For Whatever Remains
by Digolgrin
Summary: With two years on the clock going into a new age, Spyro is intent on defending both the interests of a nation and the stability of the planet at the same time. However, beneath the surface, a new threat emerges, one that could lead to the End of Days...
1. Setup

Author's Note 1: Be forewarned, this chapter is just a setup. Treat it as a longer summary, if you will.

Warfang. The Dragon City. Often called the fortress of the desert.

It has been two long years since the end of both the Malefor debacle and the Second Troll War between the mighty Auroran Republic to the east and its less-than-sane counterpart, the Troll Empire, to the west. Both sides have sunk into a reluctant but strong peace. The Troll's Emperor, whom we shall name Thorn, had never welcomed peace, but was forced to uphold it thanks to a marriage pact between two dragons; namely Spyro and Cynder. ("A small price to pay for peace," he had muttered under his foul breath as he looked over the treaty the Republic had given him.) The Republic's Chancellor, Arex, on the other hand (or claw, depending on which species you are) would rather make an unsteady peace than spend a million more lives on an already bloody war. As of now, he's never given a clear reason why.

Spyro loved his new wife (or mate, again depending on which species you are) as much as the desert sunrise that gave Warfang its frightening silhouette. It was here that he chose to make roots he hoped would spread throughout history. The Auroran soldiers stationed at Warfang, looking past Spyro's symbolic purple scales, preferred to call him "sir" in light of his war hero status, and gave his wife the title 'Lady Cynder'. As embarrassing as that sounds to her, it's about as symbolic as you can get for a dragoness in peacetime.

Also present at Warfang was Flame, a dragon medic serving in the 82nd Division, 234th Battalion, Dog Company, Wolfhound Platoon, Squad C. According to his personnel file, he's not too good in a fight, which is why he became one of two medics in his squad. His company was posted to Warfang come war's end, to strengthen Warfang's defense troops. It was here that he met his (as much as he hates to admit it) girlfriend, Ember, who at first used Flame's military connections to get pretty much anywhere, but quickly sank into a more-on, less-off relationship, much to Spyro's chagrin.

Now, Ember is pretty easy to describe. This pink dragoness used to be one of the hundreds of female dragonesses who were on the hunt for the legendary Spyro after he returned to Warfang. After Spyro repeatedly rejected Ember's advances on grounds of his at the time soon-to-be marriage to Cynder, she settled for the next best thing; a military dragon by the name of Flame. Cynder later befriended her after Ember broke off her attempts to get into Spyro's love life, and are now seen as gal pals.

If peace was to be maintained in a new age, it would take a great test to see if that peace is to stay for any long length of time. Unfortunately for Spyro, that test comes in the form of a long-forgotten enemy, mentioned only in the Auroran Bible. Malefor was but an insane purple dragon whose soul would only belong in Hell for his attempt to destroy the planet. This enemy is the true symbol of the End of Days, and Malefor, in his stupidity, had accidentally reawakened him tens of thousands of years earlier than Aurora had planned. Now he lurks in his stone prison, waiting for the right moment to commence his onslaught...

Author's Note 2: Alright, lemme start off by saying that I do not own Spyro or any other Spyro characters mentioned thus far. They belong to Universal and Vivendi, who in turn belong to Activision-Blizzard. However, the fictional countries "Auroran Republic" and "Troll Empire" do belong to me. Not to mention that they are, in a sense, in a world of my design; I just carried Warfang and Avalar over. I apologize in advance for the OOC I may have caused for Flame by putting him in the Auroran military.


	2. Planning the End

Author's Note: Alright, with that setup chapter out of the way, it's time to get down to real business. I'll start with the reason this is T rated: Depictions of violence, language, and the risk of going down the wrong path (or, as other authors call it, "to be safe") are to be expected.

(The following dialogue is spoken in Runic, the once-first language of the Auroran Republic before the dragons became commonplace. Since there are no Runic speakers in the readership, it shall be translated into English for your convenience.)

We focus our attention on a seemingly unimportant cloud of mist. Some bony little fingers, Trollish, perhaps, shape and mold this mist cloud to create images out of it, which quickly turn into supernatural, almost lifelike projections. This is how the cloud speaks, to the untrained ear, anyway. The first image is that of a purple dragon...

"This is the one?"

"Yes. This is Spyro, the current purple dragon. Aurora's trump card in supernatural defense."

"I take it he is inexperienced?"

Digolgrin Enterprises presents

"He has knowledge of all four basic elements, but beyond that, the only major act he has performed is assist in my awakening, besides putting the planet back together, of course. He has just taken up his post as purple dragon, despite his age."

A Digolgrin Fanfiction

"And why do you need him?"

"It is not only because he has a strong supernatural aura, but because I feel he has... Walked this earth before."

"In what way?"

"That, I do not know. It is just what he and the Aurorans call "a nagging feeling"."

"What should I do if Spyro is killed, by my blade or otherwise?"

The next image is that of a red-scaled dragon. Unknown to both the cloud and the figure, this is Flame.

"You go after the Fire Guardian."

"My Lord, is this not too risky? Even if I do capture him, what would he acheive?"

"The title "Guardian" is not for show. They are meant to guard something that Aurora would prefer to keep secret. It could easily be the key to my freedom."

"...As you wish. How shall I go about capturing the purple dragon?"

The image changes yet again to an image of some Trolls. Green skin, outstretched jaw, wears leather armor, carries some form of an exotic sword or other weapon- this is a Troll soldier in a nutshell.

"There are a few Troll soldiers milling about outside of the Dragon City. They are holdouts from the recent war, but, since they are outnumbered, they will attack anyone they can catch alone rather than all-out assault Warfang itself. It is recommended that you infect these to ensure they serve us, and us alone."

"Let me guess. You plan on using them to lure out Spyro with a fake assault, allowing me to ensnare him and transport him to your location?"

Story inspired by the "Bone" series of comics by Jeff Smith (Yes, this is a slight crossover; towns, events and human characters will come over to Spyro's world, but the humans will be converted into Aurorans so as to maintain the three race balance.)

"Half right. While all trolls involved in this plan are guaranteed to be killed by Spyro, the locust that will appear inside the trolls as the result of their being infected should be highly contagious; let one of them bite him, and it should enter his bloodstream. It will not work straight away; you still need to capture him from there, after he's cast out to prevent him from going insane and murdering the population."

"Will he be fair game immediately thereafter?"

"No. We first must verify he has that past life connection. We will still need him, but if this is true, we must ensure that his soul is destroyed upon his sacrifice to me."

"...Do what you must. I shall go and amass an army."

As the figure leaves, we see that he... She?... IT?... has a hood pulled over his head. Whether it is to hide a disfigurement is uncertain, but it is clearly to secure the blessing of anomity. He is followed by a swarm of locusts, all headed for the same destination; Warfang.

For Whatever Remains


	3. A Peaceful Morning

**Chapter 3**

**A "Peaceful" Morning**

A/N: I'll start this one by explaining how this is all going to work out. All chapters thus far, except Chapter 1, are actual story chapters. Every so often I'll put up a bonus chapter, which could be anything from an old work that's been on the computer for longer than it should, to a flashback to the Troll War, to give everyone an idea of what this time period was like. Just so you're aware, an Auroran is generally an anthromopic animal, like the Cheetahs of Avalar and the Moles. I'll go into detail later.

Flame POV

My name is Flame the Dragon. I'm a soldier in the Auroran army. Well, not technically a soldier-I'm a medic, one of two in my squad. The other is my partner, Private First Class Vertas, who, for the record, is not a dragon, but a wolven Auroran. We're both members of Dog Company, Wolfhound Platoon, of the 82nd Division. I can tell you right now, action is a little slow in finding us.

Any morning can suck out here in the desert surrounding Warfang. You're not allowed out of your bunk (or, in my case, a hay pile) until the bugle sounds, and, in this heat, it can take a while for that to happen. You gotta hope the bugleman didn't die of heatstroke in a secluded area. Private Ryan's the bugleman with the longest amount of service, at almost four months. Rumors're goin' around that he practically invented sunscreen, and he ain't too keen on handing out free samples.

Damn, now that I mention it, Ryan just sounded the bugle; and in record time for a Thursday. Cue the scrambling herd of Aurorans and dragons trying to get out of the barracks in time for roll call. Fortunately for me, I'm out before the bulk of the herd strikes, which is bad news for anybody behind me. Think no more of it, they'll be in the infirmary soon anyway, my center of thought commands.

"_**WOLFHOUNDS!**_" That yell belongs to that of Colonel Asgard, a tiger. He's the platoon commander, and an excellent one at that. "I've got good news and bad news. Good news is that we're off overwatch today." Cue a loud roar of approval from the soldiers, myself included. Hope Spyro heard that! "The bad news... For High Command, that is... That can only mean one thing; _T__**HE WOLVES GET THE REST THEY DESERVE!**_" Even louder roar of approval; R&R is like Christmas to us. We'll take it over a patrol any day.

"I've got an announcement to make before I let you go. Private First Class Vertas has recovered from an injury sustained in an ambush by some holdout trolls last week. Thanks to the brave actions of Corporal Flame, those responsible for the attack are now buried in the desert." Asgard, being a tiger, is a profound poet in speech, and he's also had poems written about him, mostly about his days as a soldier before becoming a Colonel. "Because of the Sergeant's bravery, he's but a few steps away from the Medal of Honor. Vertas, on the other hand, I've given a Purple Heart to." I immediately vacated the base after he let us roam free; I was supposed to meet Ember out in the market district for breakfast today, but the moment I got there, she just wasn't there! Immediately, I made fast tracks for the Temple, where she's probably waking up.

Spyro POV

"Come on, Spyro, don't get nervous on yourself." The empty church section of the Dragon Temple echoes many a thought like this thanks to its immense size. I was clad in the same black armor I wore to my wedding a year before; Cynder had dragged me here for an unknown purpose. My mind was toying with entire mental drawers of theories. I'd heard Ember and Cynder had gone out shopping at the armorers in the market about two days ago, but I never thought the trail'd lead to here. The altar is where I stood; no, it's exactly where I stood on my wedding day when my mind was going through this same routine.

I had to pinch myself on the neck to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Clearly, it wasn't working. As a result, I had to narrow my choices of possible reasons down to numbers 43, (Cynder had felt the urge to reenact the ceremony, but wasn't planning on doing so in her old wedding armor) 57, (Cynder planned to have Ember try on her old wedding armor, an unlikely theory as Ember had all but given up on me after I got married) and 92 (which is similar to 43, only Ember would play bridesmaid, a considered role two years ago, but she turned it down so she could see more of Acropolis, the Republic's capital city.). Thankfully, I had very steady husband-wife relations with Cynder, so 43 and 92 were probably going to be like trips down memory lane.

"Spyro!" The nerves in my eardrums instruct my neck to perform a prompt head turn toward the source of the voice. This happened to be Cynder, and damn, was she beautiful in that new armor! The helmet had a small white flower fitted on the helmet (A natural one, I might add) and actually came with a veil, although not covering her face like in a real wedding; two years ago, the veil was placed on top of the helm. It had small bits of lace, barely noticable but still there, in the small gaps of the body plates. The wings I'm sure there were other pieces meant to go on the legs, but her right front leg, which was where her wedding anklet was attached, was left uncovered, probably to remind her that this was just to show me the armor itself. Of course, I didn't know that, and I probably DIDN'T want to know anyway; I was too busy gawking at her to step down from the altar.

After about half a minute, my center of thought had reconstituted just enough for me to awkwardly spit out, "Y-You look stunning, C-Cynder." She blushed, whispered something to Ember, who was waiting behind the wall of the doorway out, and replied, "Why, thank you, my prince." "Haven't heard you call me that before," I chuckled. I heard Ember let out a slight giggle in the background. Cynder leapt up to the altar and told me to "Get used to it, Spyro. You don't want Ember"-pointing at her with the exposed tailblade-"to tell the soldiers on overwatch what went on in here, right?" "Wouldn't dream of it, Cynder."

Suddenly, the door burst open. I found myself in mid-nuzzle with Cynder when this happened, so I was rather embarrassed at this intruder at first; until it turned out to be Master Sergeant Katai, a fox Auroran in charge of the soldiers on overwatch. Judging by his panting, he had to have run pretty darn fast to get here. "Begging your pardon, Lady Cynder, but we've spotted some Trolls right outside the walls-And they're acting hostile!" I growled at this news. "Can't they handle it themselves?" I whispered to Cynder, followed by a much more affirmative "We'll be there as soon as we can. Keep a close eye on them til then!" to Katai. "I pray to Aurora that we can do that, Spyro. My thanks in advance." He turned around and began a sprint back to the overwatch wall.

"We better get moving, Cynd. Flame's probably being called back right now!" "Right! I'll have Ember store the armor somewhere safe." Ember came out from her hiding place with the intention to question Cynder's command. "Why me?" she asked. "You're a civilian, Ember. You don't dabble in military affairs," I reminded her. She grudgingly helped take our formal armor off, but, of course, her being a civilian really piqued her curiosity on what exactly was going on outside the fortress. The moment we left, she began following us, stealthily. I only thought of HOW hostile those Trolls were acting; were they just holdouts or did they have a bone to pick with a fortress that, if every one of its approximately 1,200 soldiers did their jobs right, could wipe everything about a living being-his body, soul, and even his BLOOD-off the face of the planet?

A/N: One last thing: Are platoon commanders Colonels? I'm really not too sure, could ya help a man out? Pop me a PM or leave a review.


	4. One Arm Rising

Chapter 3: One-Arm Rising (And Falling!)

"Corporal Fenrir, load up those cannons!" a Cheetah Gunnery Sergeant cried to his assistant. Auroran soldiers everywhere darted for cover, weapons and binoculars as the Trolls-surprisingly, only six-made a rather unstealthy approach toward the fortress gates. "No time to dawdle here! Inform the Generals!" "General Tarsil already knows, sir. He says to stand by and await his orders." Fenrir, a gray wolf, shocked by the Trolls' sudden appearance, watched the Trolls as he performed his rehearsed loading procedure; if his eyes weren't deceiving him, the "greenskins" were led by who he recognized as "One-Arm" Kilan, a known holdout and all-around creep. "Damn Kilan... Doesn't he know when to quit?" He muttered as he loaded a high explosive shell into the mouth of the "Hellrainer" cannon; a weapon that, if used in modern times, would cripple a light tank if aimed right. "Let 'em choke on that!" he exclaimed to the gunner, a bear. "That is, if there's anything left of them," the gunner mused before both began to chuckle as if they were about to perform something very, VERY cruel; and they're right. High explosives + Trolls = green guts.

Meanwhile, back at Warfang's famous fire-lock gates, Flame, having just been called back, met up with Private First Class Vertas and Squad C. "Can you believe we got called to the gates-ON OUR R&R?" Vertas complained to the Dragon Corporal. "Ah, they're only holdouts. They'll turn back, you'll see." "I hope so," a vulpine soldier worried. "I've got family visiting, and this kind of thing scares the living verak out of 'em." Just after the soldier's prayer, a yell originated from the walls above. "Where's Sergeant Katai?" "He's gone to fetch Spyro and Lady Cynder! He should be back anytime now!" Suddenly, Squad C began to groan. A curse or two in Runic escaped soldiers' mouths in anger. "You hear that, Flame?" "Oh yeah. Normally, they wouldn't be calling Spyro over. Something's up here," Flame reasoned.

Two minutes later, Spyro and Cynder began to ascend the steps to the overwatch wall. They were now clad in silver armor, with the markings of the 82nd division on their shoulder plates. For your information, the Aurorans go as far as to salute Spyro when he shows up, as he, officially, is a Commander. However, he prefers not to lead, only to follow or get the hell out of the way, since he believed at this point in time that the title of Commander was purely symbolic, alongside the Purple Dragon title. No, they were more interested in "What the hell's going on down there?" than "At ease, soldier." By the time they had gotten to the wall, the Trolls had inched ever closer and had started harassing Auroran civilians who just so happened to be on the same side of the wall. "Only six? Why're they worrying about six lousy Trolls?" Spyro questioned, irritated. "Simple question. Just look at what they're doing to those civilians." As Cynder mentioned this, One-Arm throttled a red vixen into the nearest horse-drawn wagon. Another had begun looting the corpse of his buddy from the previous week.

"Secondly, they haven't turned back. That's why we were called over," Cynder explained. "Makes sense." "It'll make a lot more sense if you get your scaly behinds down there!" Spyro and Cynder jumped at the gruff voice that originated from behind. The dragons turned their heads to find...

General Tarsil. A gray wolf, Tarsil stood at about 6'7, which made him a very noticable presence on the battlefield. There was just one thing wrong with him-well, two, actually. One, he's missing his right arm, carved off when he, as a Lieutenant Colonel, "mistakenly" sent his strike force into the heart of the "sacred ground" of the Dragons, laid out in the Warfang Accords of Auroran Year (AY) 3265. A fourth of the strike force died in the resulting battle, which the Citadel prefers to keep on the down-low. He's also missing his left eye, which was lost when a Trollish arrow hit him there. Legend has it that he tore the arrow out and threw it back at the retreating archer. The arrow struck him in the throat, rendering him unable to speak for the remainder of his life, meaning he couldn't point out the General in a crowd verbally without help. He never opted for prosthetic replacements after he lost his arm, and he flat-out refuses to wear an eyepatch, unless symbolic duties are at hand. Factor in the scar on his surviving eye, and you'll find that Tarsil isn't the best looking general around.

"General Tarsil. How nice to see you here," Spyro meekly (and sarcastically) greeted the General. "Cut the pleasantries. I GAVE YOU AN ORDER, and I EXPECTyou to follow it or I'll throw you down there myself!" "Doesn't give you anymore of a reason to abuse me. You KNOW they rally around ME, not you." Tarsil, infuriated at Spyro's slight insubordination, growled "Just GO!" in response. Emphasis on "go". In the span of little more than five seconds, both dragons had scampered down the steps and to the gates. The General then turned to his adjutant, a slightly younger Arctic fox. "Sounds like you were up against the wall there, sir," the adjutant spoke. He possessed an accent known to us here on Earth as a British accent. "There shall come a time, Captain Fasnir, when Spyro no longer treads this planet's surface. Whenever that happens, so help me Aurora, I will reap what he has sown and use it to re-instill confidence in our men and the Auroran military as a whole." "That sounds a little... how do I put this... Over the edge, General. Without Spyro and Cynder, the men'll have nothing to rally around." the adjutant explained, speaking in a concerned tone of voice. "Besides, even if we managed to-" "I'll have no more of that, Captain. You open your mouth on this subject ONE MORE TIME, and I'll have you thrown in the dungeon. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" "Y-Yes, Tarsil. My mistake."

"Come on, dragons! Give 'em hell!" "Atta girl, Cynder!" "Show 'em who's boss, Spyro!" With the Auroran soldiers shouting words of encouragement, the dragons bravely stepped out into the desert sun, the gates sealing themselves behind them. The Trolls heard the doors shut, and stopped whatever they were doing to glance at the newcomers. Instead of turning back at the sight of the purple dragon, however, they charged at them almost haphazardly, as if they'd forgotten anti-dragon strategy. "Well, this is new," Spyro spoke in an almost surprised tone of voice. "Suicide Troll attacks? I don't think so!" Cynder recognized this tactic from late in the Troll War; Entire columns of Trolls would charge out of any forested area in an attempt to distract Dragons and Aurorans alike from their own retreating army. Sure, they ran into a wall of fire (or wind, lightning, cold steel, arrows, what have you) but hey! At least they did their job.

I must now take a moment as author and inform you that the following battle isn't pretty. Seriously. Get a barf bag if you're one of those squeamish types who don't like blood being spilt in semi-graphic manners. Or just look away, that works too.

The looter struck first, swinging his dagger at Cynder as if he were slashing with a knife. Her tail blocked the strike, prompting Spyro to dig his claws into the looter's backside. Green blood poured out the open wound, and a second strike from Spyro into that wound finished the job. He tossed the useless body into the sand before torching an assailant sneaking up on him from behind. Cynder used the looter's dagger against the enemy by throwing it with her tail at a one-eyed Troll's heart, before slashing the left leg out from underneath a Troll swordsman with her infamous tailblade. She then finished him off via stabbing his right eye out and impaling the big lug's heart, leaving One-Arm and one of his lowly grunts. Strangely, not once did any of them speak. All that was spoken during this short battle were more than a few Trollish screams and a few battle grunts from both Spyro and Cynder. One-Arm wisely fled, leaving his cannon fodder grunt friend to become Dragon food as the dragons clamped down their mighty jaws on vital regions of his body, including the neck, spewing blood across the desert.

Meanwhile, back on the wall, Auroran soldiers, Flame included, were cheering at the battle's proceedings, although it only lasted about forty-five seconds. Flame was clapping and yelling at the recent chomp-down of the holdout grunt, although he couldn't stand the sight, being a medic. However, he didn't notice the dragoness hiding in the shadow generated by the Hellrainer cannon he stood next to. Next thing he knew... "Hi there, Flame!" CRASH! "Ow!" He regained his senses to notice a certain pink dragoness standing over his body. "Ember, you know better than to sneak up on me like that! I nearly suffered a basal skull fracture!" She giggled, not understanding a word her boyfriend just said. "Sorry! Instinct just kinda took over." Flame clutched his skull as if one of his wings had broken at some high altitude and he had somehow survived the crash landing. "Plus, I don't think civilians are even allowed up here." "You sure?" Flame nodded. "Although, since you probably paid the guard to look the other way..." _"I did not!"_

Back on the ground, Spyro had finished dealing with the grunt. The greenskin's body lay flat, his chest and neck torn asunder. "Okay, he's good and dead. Now where's One-Arm?" "He's probably run back off to get some more men." Spyro sniffed the air. "No. Those guys were, quite literally, the last of 'em." The Aurorans of Warfang had been fighting a war of attrition with the holdouts. Some were captured, caught up on current events, and sent back to the Empire. Most, however, were now dead, their bodies either buried in the sand or their ashes scattered to the four winds. One-Arm Kilan was now officially all that was left.

"If anything, he'll have committed ritual suicide by the time we find the guy," Spyro pointed out. "He can't have gone far. First, we should search the remains of the siege towers we took out two years ago. If we can't find him there, we'll take to the skies," Cynder suggested. "On it." However, the instant they split up, One-Arm had already moved.

Pause for a sec. Y'know those Trolls the dragons took out earlier this chapter? You might want to recall the first chapter. No, not the setup chapter. I'm talking about "Planning the End." Those locusts that took off for Warfang bit the holdouts, transferring the hooded guy's directive into their nervous system and taking away the power of speech and subtracted some motor skills. It was basically all they knew afterwards. Sure, everything else was on their own free will, but the locusts force marched them in front of Warfang's gates and forced them to make hostilities with the Auroran citizens they caught outside. This lured Spyro out and prompted their doom. With everyone else dead, One-Arm is now the last hope for passing the locust onto Spyro. I now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

The dragons began to search the remains of each siege tower. These've been here a long while; two years, three months, 25 days, 13 hours and 17 minutes, to be exact. As they sifted through the wreckages, each one was calling out something along the general lines of "Come on out, One-Arm. You're beaten! Surrender now and we'll send you back to the Empire first class!" When Spyro reached siege tower debris field number three, he felt as if One-Arm was watching him, waiting to stick his sword into his backside. He continued his search as normal after his center of thought dismissed the idea, but halfway through, he realized he couldn't quite shake the feeling and decided to let Cynder know. "Hey Cynder!" "Did you find something?" "No, but I get the feeling One-Arm's watching me." "Don't worry about it. Remember the name. He isn't as big a threat as you think." "Very reassuring, Cynd." Just a few moments later, One-Arm made his move, leaping up from behind Spyro. Cynder gasped and yelled "SPYRO, LOOK OUT!" in an attempt to warn him. Unfortunately, he didn't see his assailant in time, and felt teeth sinking into his skin. He wobbled for a few seconds, his vision blurry, before he regained his senses, grabbed One-Arm by the arm with his tail, and threw him into the nearest boulder. His neck broke on impact and most of his face became the paste spattered upon it.

"Oh, fer Aurora's sake... Ember, get out of sight. Spyro's hurt." Flame leapt down from the ramparts, using his wings as a parachute to land softly on the ground. "Spyro, you alright?" "Yeah, I've had worse, Flame. A-Am I bleeding?" Flame looked over the wound, and found purple blood trickling down the back of his neck. "Yep, that's blood. We better get you to the infirmary, **STAT**." "You better, or Cynder'll be bawlin' her eyes out at my funeral," Spyro joked. Cynder didn't see past the joke, spouting _"I WOULD NOT!"_ in offense. (Background: "Oooh, feisty lady! _Mrrow!_") "I know two people who would be, though..."

As Flame led Spyro off the field of battle, it became apparent through conversation that the Trolls they had fought were acting abnormally when compared to the Trolls Flame had fought a week earlier; their motions were jittery, they hadn't spoke (which was already apparent), and the only dragon they were actually focusing on was Spyro. Spyro and Cynder didn't see it, but from Flame's perspective, the Trolls' battle formation seemed to be arrayed almost totally around the purple dragon. You and I, as reader and narrator, respectively, know what the Trolls really were, but will the hooded figure's plan work in his (or her) favor? The answer to that question, my dear reader, will come soon enough.

A/N: This is a long one, obviously. I had PLENTY of content I wanted to squeeze in here without having to come back to it at a later date, and believe you me, from my perspective, it was kinda tricky trying to figure out how to make it look well-written. Of course, there's always the call to read and review, which I prefer to not do; any "good" (as in no-flame, honest reactions, suggestions, all that jazz) reviews this fic gets by itself I'll treat as an "Oh crap, this guy (or gal, or other) has feedback!" kind of deal; I'll look over it time and again, and I appreciate any screw-up point outs so I can get a revised version revised and up tout suite.


	5. BC 1 PT 1: The Ejection Seat Incident

A/N: Hello and welcome to the first bonus chapter of For Whatever Remains. This is one of the few things I have on my hard drive so far that were actually inspired by someone else. There was a LoS-titled fic set on modern day Earth that I found through a Google search sparked out of curiosity. Titled "**The Legend of Spyro: Operation DarkStar**", Spyro and Flame, more of a classic duo than our familiar Spyro and Cynder, and, in fact, is a Classic Spyro fic, are transported from their humble, nameless planet to our war-ravaged, terrorist-inhabited Earth. Unfortunately, they didn't arrive at a good time. (Keep in mind, these were my original impressions, based on what I'd read at the time, so it might be completely wrong.) The communist Chinese, for whatever reason, appear to be planning a dastardly attack on U.S soil. The President, apparently not willing to send in SEAL Team Six to solve the problem, decides to use the dragons to get the commies to think twice before attacking the good ol' USA. (Actual story: The Sorceror, the husband of the Sorceress from Year of the Dragon, takes over half of our world. It's the dragons' job to liberate this entire half from enemy hands. I just like my interpretation better; more Black Ops-like that way.)

While we're fairly confident Spyro could just get in there via a solo **HALO** (High Altitude, Low Opening) jump and start roasting, crushing, freezing and electrocuting some commies, the author, _TMHB77_, proposed a less subtle way of getting in; a titular, in the chapter I stumbled on, one-way trip, coming in from a ridiculous 80,000 feet. This mission is codenamed "Operation Darkstar" after the callsign of the aircraft used to accomplish this dirty deed, Darkstar One-Niner-Five. (Apart from the usual errors, this and the altitude they come in at are among my only complaints. You could've just used "Darkstar 1-1" and called it golden, you didn't need to confuse us.) The inspirational part comes from this exchange, rewritten to match realism and "good" standards, and the pilot's name, Austin, turned to a callsign and changed his species to fit with my original interpretation. ("Alright dragons, cameras at the ready... Animation to speed... Is everything armed and ready back there, Flame? *He nods.* Good! AAAAAAND ACTION!")

I present to you:

Bonus Chapter 1, Part 1: The Infamous Ejection Seat Incident

Talon turned the aircraft onto the runway and switched on the parking brake to hold it in place while the Pratt and Whitney engines spooled up for takeoff. He turned his head back to his "passengers" and asked:

"Are you guys ready to rock?"

Spyro, unfamiliar with the expression, could only respond with an unsure "Yeah, I guess", while Flame, eager to see some action, replied with "Let's do it!"

The pilot's face lit up with a smile; this kid was ready for anything. He imagined that back where he came from, he was likely the daredevil of his village. However, he noticed neither dragon had ever experienced the takeoff of a fighter jet, so he set the throttle to max and immediately warned them that they "had better hang on to something."

Spyro strapped himself in the way Rusty had taught him; he found it a little challenging, but got it right the second try. Talon, on the other hand, was already strapped in, and had his right hand poised over the parking brake button, waiting for Flame to do the same.

A/N Continued: Alright, stop for a minute and let me point something out to you. The author went the extra research mile and actually included ejection seats in the cockpit of this experimental fighter. *arrows point between the dragons' hind legs* You see these black and yellow handles? These activate the ejection system. I'd ask you to do a little bit of research of your own to see how this works, but this is where the fun begins! If you rewind a little earlier into the chapter from this point...

*rewind noise*

"Both of you see that yellow and black striped handle between your legs?" Both dragons nodded with sullen faces. "DO **NOT**, **UNDER** **ANY** **CIRCUMSTANCES**,** PULL THOSE HANDLES UNLESS I SAY SO!**" Both dragons gulped in response, afraid of what might happen if even one of them got too curious. Spyro got up the nerve to respond "Yes sir," but Flame was too afraid to speak until the aircraft started moving; well, part curiosity, part being afraid.

A/N Continued Once More: As you just saw, Talon (Austin) **EXPLICITLY** said not to pull those ejection handles unless he gave express permission (well, more like a "EJECT EJECT EJECT") to do so. Guess who winds up going against this order? I'll give you a hint; it ain't Spyro!

Suddenly, a loud *CRACK!* rang out from behind the pilot, followed by a *SHOOOoooo...*, the sound of rockets igniting and lifting off. Namely, the ACES II ejection seat's rocket motor. The sound of a screaming dragon-he didn't know who-followed soon after. After a few nanoseconds in shock, someone tapped his shoulder. "Um, Talon?" It was Spyro, thank God. This could only mean _Flame_ had bailed at the last second, going _against_ what he had told him! However, he couldn't help but laugh. "...He pulled the goddamn ejection seat handle, didn't he?" "Yeah... Yeah, he did."

A/N Yet Again: Let's flashback to about where Flame pulled the handle and go into his POV, shall we? I know it didn't quite work out for me in Chapter Two, but we need some perspective on the situation.

Flame POV

...That's when I spotted the handle. I knew Talon told me not to pull the thing, but curiosity killed the cat... Right? So while Spyro wasn't looking, I clasped both my front claws around it and pulled it as hard as I could toward my body. The next thing I knew, BANG! I was airborne, flying a forward arc toward the front of the aircraft. I remember screaming as soon as the seat left the cockpit.

The whole thing took about five seconds to complete, I was later told, but it felt like ten to fifteen to me. Halfway through the arc, I kicked my hind legs as if to say "LET ME OFF THIS CRAZY RIDE!" and whaddya know? I was off! Two, or, as it felt like to me, five seconds passed with me seemingly suspended in midair unwittingly performing a frontflip before something dug into my... unmentionable region. I look up and I spy this _**HUGE**_ orange and white parachute hovering over my head, hooked up to my harness by these tiny little "lines", I think Talon later called them. I guess I owe my life to that thing.

Surprisingly, I heard laughter over the radio. I expected Talon to be pissed off at me, but that was _his voice_ laughing alongside Spyro's! I think I _did_ hear a "Airman Flame, get your scaly behind down here right now!" in a joking tone of voice, but I was still slightly ashamed. I'd gone against orders, sure, but if Talon had given Spyro the chance to do the same after I bailed on him, the sound of our laughter would likely pierce the sky. The parachute landing position hadn't been trained into me yet, so I fell flat on my face while the parachute landed on top of me. If the true meaning of "one-way trip" in this mission was what I was thinking after this incident, I would **DEFINITELY** try to stay awake throughout our flight to China JUST to do it again.

A/N Redux: Let's get back into the cockpit and finish this rewrite. You've seen what inspired me to do this, but I'm gonna have to save what I'm planning for the second part to this bonus chapter!

Talon hit his helmet against his own ejection seat and, inadvertently, began transmitting his own laughter. Spyro hadn't figured out how to switch the microphone built-in to his oxygen mask to talk to just those in the cockpit, so Flame was able to hear both Spyro AND Talon laughing from inside the cockpit as he drifted softly downward onto the runway. Their laughter stifled for just a little bit after Flame hit the ground, but Spyro took the time to joke "Of _all_ the levers he could decide to pull first, he HAS to pull the one he _wasn'__t_ allowed to pull... Sometimes I wonder about that dragon."

As human and dragon temporarily disembarked, Flame sat up underneath his parachute, sweating from being underneath a silk makeshift blanket and breathing rather hard and fast from the adrenaline rush. He got the feeling he was being watched, and immediately prepared his response for what he thought was coming. "Flame..." Talon began. "DON'T say it," Flame bluntly stated. "Don't say what? Oh, you mean 'don't bring up the fact that I have an uncanny ability to pull the one lever that would throw me out of the freakin' plane and the one the pilot _**EXPLICITLY STATED**_ that I shouldn't pull?' Ember would be _ashamed_ of you!" Spyro finished as both he and Talon started laughing again. "Okay, I admit, that _was_ pretty funny," Flame finally admitted as he crawled out from underneath his 'chute. "Y'know, guys, that incident just set us back five to six hours at least," Talon pointed out. "At this rate, we could be looking at stopping the attack at the last second rather than a quick end to the Reds' plans." "Oh, whoops. I speak for everyone I know on this rock when I say this: We had best get this thing fixed up, and fast!" Flame suggested. "That, and, uh, repack the parachute. I can't fly like this."

Final A/N: ("AAAAAND CUT! That's a wrap, gentlemen, good work." Alright, lemme know what you think. I'm tellin' ya, I had to use a few references to nail this one down, up to _and including_ the fic itself! It's also the first thing I've done in a long time, and with school starting two weeks from publishing, I'm gonna need all the time I got left. Thanks for reading, and I'll get Chapter 4 up as soon as I'm able to finish it.


	6. Of Locusts and Legends PT 1

Chapter 4: Of Locusts and Legends Part One

The following is an excerpt from Spyro's journal, given to him exactly one day after he returned to Warfang from killing Malefor. SO DON'T QUESTION IT!

"_**Thursday, July 17th, 3367 AY**_

_"I know I'm running out of ways to say it, but today is my last day as an unmarried dragon. I feel as if I'm about to accept one of the greatest burdens a man could ever hope to bear-although the thought of children does occasionally tickle my thoughts. They (referring to the priests at the church they were wed at -Author) separated us early this morning, under the superstition that the groom, i.e me, was not to see his bride on the day before the ceremony, or even on the morning of it. Sounds like a bunch of rhetorical blasphemy to me._

_"Luckily, Flame was here for me throughout these long hours. I don't know if this is the way these so called "pre-wedding jitters" are cured, with a friend by your side, but I'm not complaining. The guy's like a brother to me. Ever since the treaty was ratified, he's helped me take the matter of planning the whole thing out of the Citadel's hands and sparing the taxpayers from paying money for a trivial matter, all culminating in my proposal to her about two months ago. While it wouldn't have been a bad thing for us if they remained in charge of it, the Senators later told us, arranged marriages are a HUGE taboo to the general public, even in the name of politics, so it was a relief to know I had expressed my true feelings for her and was willing to accept a burden that would knock their approval ratings down quite a bit if left in their hands. If it weren't for that Black Knight fellow, Cynder would have already walked down the aisle to marry one of the greatest nervous wrecks the Republic's ever known by now! (More on him later.)_

_"But I digress... This war's only lasted three years, well, one if I count the fact that I was asleep for over half of it, but I'm actually kinda glad I can help end it. It's not the best way to put a stop to the bloodshed, but if Flame and Cynder aren't complaining, then I'm not worried either. Ember can just keep her trap shut._

_"**Friday, July 18th, 3367 AY**_

_"Oh, sweet Aurora; I'm literally writing this at the doors of the Great Aurora Cathedral. Whatever was holding me together yesterday probably just snuck out the window last night. I'm nervous, sweating for no good reason... Unless that's just the armor... No, it's definitely 'cause I'm nervous. Flame says it's only out of the fact that the eyes of the world'll be upon us-Cynder especially, since she gets freedom of expression with her bridal armor. Don't know why, but that only makes this situation even worse. One, I haven't seen Cynder since two days ago, and two... What if I mess my vows up? What if I say "I don't" instead of "I do"? Ah, I'm gettin' ahead of myself here... Might as well stop writing an' get inside before Flame gets impatient."_

Two Years Ago

July 18th, Auroran Year 3367. On this day, Spyro and Cynder were bound together in marriage, further cementing the purple dragon as the thirteenth purple dragon to actually settle down and marry. ("Hold on, thirteenth purple dragon? I thought there were only three!" I'll get to that later on this chapter.) Two hours later, the Second Troll War came to a close, with the Republic inheriting two regions that bordered the infamous mountainous barrier between the Troll Empire and the Auroran Republic, under the theory that the mountain range, now called the Razgriz Mountains, named for their version of Satan, should be the only border between the two civilizations.

Let's get down to proceedings, shall we?

*ZIP!*

Hear that muffled pipe organ? We're not precisely right on the aisle right now, but you can probably bet either Cynder's walking down the aisle, or it's just there for ambient effect. I suspect the former, but we can't exactly tell; "Here Comes the Bride" might not apply on this world.

Wait a minute, why are we even up here to begin with? They can't see us, or me for that matter... Ah, screw it, let's just head down to the altar.

*POOF!*

Okay, two golden anklets... Ah, this must be the ring exchange... equivalent... Might as well take up narrative duties here! (One A/N to explain, though: Since dragons don't exactly wear rings, anklets are the general equivalent. Keep this in mind!)

When Spyro proposed to Cynder two months earlier, he'd gotten an engagement anklet in order to do so. Now, they were both having golden ones latched onto their right front legs, pretty much rendering the silver ones they'd been wearing to indicate that they were both "taken", per se, pointless. In a couple of minutes, they would officially become one and the same-or, as the priest put it, "two as one"-and he, no matter how nervous he was, was willing to accept his fate. He'd successfully managed to shake off Ember and all other legions of fandragonesses, stopped a Republic-threatening crime (A/N: Until I get to that, this is your only hint as to what I mean by Black Knight!), and this was his reward... He couldn't be any happier.

The sensation of cold mineral anklet closing around his right front ankle brought him back to his senses, if they weren't already focused on the beauty of his bride. Not only did she wear white wedding armor, her scales had been polished to an almost mirror sheen. _Sheesh, that's money well spent,_ Spyro thought. "The reason these anklets are made of gold," the priest explained, "is that gold will never tarnish. It won't rust, decay, or anything like that in our lifetimes. It is a perfect symbol of eternal love." While the golden retriever could drone on about this subject, Spyro had already gotten to the point, latching the anklet he had been given around Cynder's ankle. While he waited for one of his sentences to soak in amongst the mostly-Auroran soldier crowd, he noticed that both dragons already had their anklets on; and he was just about to give Spyro permission to do so! "Real fast one we got here," he noted to himself.

As they exchanged vows, Spyro had Ignitus' earlier ghostly words of blessing playing over and over in his head: "No matter what Cynder has done, if you are still in love, then that is all the convincing I need. She has no family of her own, and neither do you (hiding the fact that Spyro had been raised by dragonflies), so I would go as far as to say you are creating one yourself." He was figuratively unable to hear himself say his vows over them, but since he was repeating after the priest, he subconsciously nailed them, save for _one _minor slipup near the end, on the word "health" in "in sickness and in health", (A/N: Think about it; how could you _**POSSIBLY**_ screw that word up? If you already know, no cookie for you, 'cause, well, you already know.) which Cynder laughed/giggled at. Flame, his best man (Sparx had been busy tending to a new dragonfly village at the time, and, hell, didn't even **KNOW** about the marriage, but his absence also hid Spyro's actual heritage), could only bring claw to face in humor.

After the priest got his laughs (and small scolding of the purple dragon) in, he quickly got back to where he had left off; finishing the ceremony. "I now pronounce you husband and wife." He then turned to Spyro and told him those fateful five words: "You may kiss the bride." It was here he froze and tried to pass that responsibilty to Cynder with a quick, and rather cliche, "Uh, you do it, Cynd!" Cynder could only laugh. "C'mon, the brave purple dragon stops dead in his tracks when he's told to kiss his bride? I don't believe that!" This prompted laughter from the spectators as Spyro tried to come up with a good explanation. "Well, I-" However, Cynder somehow knew what he was going to say and stopped him cold with a reassuring "Don't be."-and actually instigated the kiss for him! This caught him completely off guard, but he soon seemed to play along, almost looking like they were-y'know, making out amidst the applause of the crowd; their part in ending the war was done.

And then...

Present Day

Tuesday, August 7th, AY 3369

"Spyro? SPYRO!" Cynder's voice aroused the purple dragon from his anesthesia dream. She'd been allowed in after a medical team had finished scoping out his injuries. Most of his memory of before he was rendered "out" had been almost wiped clean, and he couldn't even remember what had thrown him in the infirmary. While he didn't need surgery, the Aurorans hadn't figured out how to provide anesthesia to just one part of his body, namely where he'd been bitten by the now-dead infamous Troll holdout "One-Arm" Kilan, and had to give him a pill containing a potent anesthetic, harvested from a plant in the swamps.

A strange side effect of this pill, though, is that it could cause very-short-term temporary amnesia. In other words, Spyro had woken up with almost no memory. Cynder decided to play around with this, starting with answering Spyro's first inquiry-"Who the hell are you?"-with "I'm the nurse attending to you right now. You, on the other hand, just plunged from the top of the Dragon Temple without much in the way of using your wings to save yourself. You should be lucky you're still alive, Spyro." "Never pictured someone as cute as you trying to save my life," Spyro chuckled. He had gone for her story hook, line, and sinker, prompting her to continue down this line. "Then again, I heard that such a drop was fatal..." "You've got no idea how many dragons I've had to scrape off the pavement after attempting to jump off that thing. The daredevils think they can get enough forward momentum to start flyin' around the city. I say, you just got yourself a six-foot grave within its walls, pal," Cynder said, intoning a sort of accent we can affix to someone from Brooklyn here on Earth as she did so in an attempt to mask her identity. "Oh, how rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself. The name's Cynder."

Cynder... The name sounded familiar to Spyro, perhaps from his anesthesia dream. Suddenly, his long-term memory came rushing back to him, and Cynder's little jig was now officially up. "Nice try, Cynder, but I would NEVER jump off the top of the Dragon Temple. The Guardians would _kill_ me if I tried," Spyro explained. "I knew you'd catch on eventually," Cynder admitted.

The Purple Dragon clutched his forehead, trying to remember what had happened before he had been put under. All he remembered is that he had been bitten by One-Arm for no adequately explained reason; _Why bite me when the guy could have just cut my throat open with that dagger?_, he thought. Since there appeared to be noone else to help him recover his bearings, given that the entire medical staff was busy tending to injured soldiers, he had to ask Cynder to refresh his memory... He was about to, anyway. Why?

Flame, accompanied by a member of the advanced disease research team, a Captain Draknar (a cheetah), strode into the infirmary from a side door, discussing matters of *ahem* mutual interest. "I'm telling you, Captain, One-Arm was _not_ foaming at the mouth! Sure, he was acting all crazy-like, but he should have been paralyzed by that stage of the disease. Therefore, it **can't** be rabies. It's gotta be something else!" Flame protested. "At least ask Lady Cynder! She'd tell you!" The cheetah sighed. He'd never known the Corporal to question an injury or diagnosis, but he had no choice but to play along; the Dragon had a decent point going, and he didn't want to disappoint him. "Alright. But if she says otherwise, I _won't_ deviate from my original diagnosis. Do you understand?" Draknar ordered. Flame nodded meekly, not making any decent attempts to question a Captain's orders.

After witnessing this conversation, Spyro knew full well of what had transpired to get him onto this... rather hard operating table, but no idea of his possible fate. However, he kept quiet as Draknar calmly walked in Cynder's direction with the intent of questioning her. "Lady Cynder?" the cheetah began. "Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" Cynder admonished. (A/N: I don't _think_ a lot of people know the context of this title in ancient terms, so let me explain; it was used for women who were married to a lord or gentleman. In Britain and Ireland-this is the definition of the title I'm using-this was used to describe females of high status, up to _**AND INCLUDING PRINCESSES**_. So you can probably tell she's not too proud of that title.) "Sorry. Captain Draknar, Disease Research," the Captain introduced himself, shaking paws with the former (in)famous 'Terror of the Skies'. "Can I call you Cyn or Cynd?" "Either's fine by me." "Okay. Anyway, Cynd, Flame wanted me to ask you something... Do you remember One-Arm's attack at all?" "It happened just this morning, so I sure as hell couldn't have forgotten it," Cynder acknowledged. "Why?"

The cheetah sighed before continuing on. "Flame and I... have a little disagreement. Personally, I'd have to be the one to tell you that One-Arm and his holdout pals had somehow contracted a disease we like to call rabies, and that your mate might have received it through that wound in his neck, but Flame says otherwise. He's tellin' me One-Arm wasn't foaming at the mouth-one of the first symptoms of this disease-when he bit him, and that he should have been paralyzed at least from the waist down when he was performing those crazy actions." It took all of two seconds for Cynder's face to take on a smirk of confidence. "Then I can tell you right away that Flame's right." Draknar reeled back in shock. "H-he _**is**_?" Cynder described the whole battle to him from her perspective. Not once did **ANY** of the key symptoms of rabies wind up being mentioned as happening to the Trolls, save for the strange jittery motions.

The Captain paused for a moment after Cynder had finished. He turned his head to find Flame staring back at him with an "_I told you so_" grin on his face. Spyro, on the other hand, was just about to hop up on all fours when he realized his hind legs were still in their restraints; y'know, to keep patients from sneaking off before the knockout pill was administered. He grrred at the restraints before laying back on the table. "Speaking of Spyro," Flame said, moving to help undo his friend's restraints, "now that Cynder's proven you wrong, what kind of little bugger do you think's running around in his bloodstream now?" "Well, if it's not rabies, and the fact that each Troll seemed to be acting normally in battle, save for those spasms Cynder described, then..." Suddenly, Draknar's face lit up in abstract horror. "Oh, _Aurora be_ _damned!_" "What is it?" Spyro inquired in an alarmed tone of voice, suddenly leaping up on all fours thanks to Flame's timely help.

"I-I-I think that Troll was carrying "the Locust" in his blood," Draknar spoke, horrified.

To Be Continued

A/N: *dodges shotgun blasts* **WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!** Cool your jets, guys! I was just saving my explanation for the end of the chapter so I didn't wind up mentioning it in passing, causing it to fly right over your heads. Plus, I just found it cool to end this part on a cliffhanger. But if you're _that_ persistent and **really **wanna know, then here goes: *ahem* In order to establish a sort of long-running friendship between Aurorans and Dragons, as depicted in all earlier chapters featuring the two species, I decided to give the Dragons some time leeway to evolve and spread out over the wide area that is the LoS continent. Since, according to the Legend accompanying Spyro, Purple Dragons supposedly show up every ten generations, this leeway (a rather large one, I might add; a _couple thousand years_ leeway!) grants me the priviledge of counting Spyro as a member of a long line of purple dragons, _not just Malefor!_

PM me if you want a more detailed explanation of _that_ matter, but reviews are _always_ appreciated! (However, I'll only explain this to the first five people who do so; I can't risk leaking plot details to the masses.)


	7. Of Locusts and Legends PT 2

Previously on For Whatever Remains

*A certain One-Armed Troll leaps up from behind Spyro's back.*

Cynder: *gasp* SPYRO, LOOK OUT!

*Spyro spins around in an attempt to counter the attack, but One-Arm's teeth sink into his neck, cut to Spyro's pupils shrinking in pain*

*Cut to the cave scene from "Planning the End"*

Mist Cloud: The Locust within them should be highly contagious; let one of them bite him, and it should enter his bloodstream.

*Cut, once again, to the military infirmary in Warfang.*

Flame: Now that Cynder's proven you wrong, what kind of little bugger do you think's running about his body now, huh?

*Captain Draknar pauses to mull over the details for, according to this cut, little over three seconds before his own pupils shrink in abstract horror. Spyro leaps up on all fours.*

Spyro: What is it?

Draknar: I-I-I think that Troll was carrying the Locust in his blood.

_**Chapter 5**_

_**"Of Locusts and Legends"**_

_**Part 2**_

Spyro and Cynder seemed to have question marks spawn above their heads in confusion, while Flame was scratching his head trying to remember what the Locust even _was_. "The Locust?" the mates asked in unison.

"You mean you two never read Genesis?" Draknar replied, astonished (and still quite horrified; his voice is still shaky.)

They shook their heads. "We were about to get to that when Arex-I mean, _Chancellor _Arex-called us to the Citadel two years ago," Cynder affirmed. "It was in Cyril's Draconic class... wasn't it?"

Spyro nodded, replying "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was him."

Flame scoffed. "Well then, you've got quite a bit of catching up to do..." he joked, taking a deep breath before beginning to summarize, roughly, the events in Genesis that mentioned the Locust in one way or another.

"...Although Her Children had just started to get their bearings on Her brave new world, Aurora had yet to face Her greatest challenge. A spirit in Her Holy Council-that of the Locust-became unhappy with the way She was running this world. Believing Chaos and Order to be the only way Her Children could learn to adapt, He "convinced" the Wolf and Jaguar spirits to rise up in rebellion, forever changing the balance of power in the Council. In response, Aurora ordered the Wolves and Jaguars back on earth to join up with other Clans in order to avoid the inconveniences this rebellion would provide (although _they_ weren't very trusting of Aurora either after their respective Spirits badmouthed her way of thinking). While She was surpressing the rebellion in Her Council, the world below her descended into Chaos as Clan fought Clan for dominance of the land-the Wars of Unification. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Wolf and Jaguar Spirits were quelled, and as for the Locust, he was imprisoned in what we now know as the Razgriz Mountains until the End of Days. However, the Wars below continued to rage on, as if the Locust's reign of Order and Chaos was still in effect. Eventually, one Clan-the reformed Wolves-brought each and every Clan under their control with swift diplomacy rather than full-on war.

"There's a passage in the Auroran Bible dealing _entirely_ with the End of Days. I don't know if you've seen it or not, since it's easy to miss, but here it is: "Great Darkness falls across our Generation. May we be equal to the burden of Death,"" Flame finished.

"Uh, Corporal? I don't think that's the passage I'm thinking of. Those were "The Last Rites of Our Generation," _not_ "The Signs of the Locust,"" Draknar pointed out.

"It's close enough to *me*..." Flame meekly replied.

The Cheetah sighed once more. "Oy vey. Anyway, you two, "The Signs of the Locust" basically lists the symptoms that indicate that the End of Days is coming. There's a couple that deal with the mental disease, which, by the way, we've had only one case of throughout the Fortress's entire thousand year history, and, therefore, we do _**NOT**_ know how to cure it without having to kill you." He pulled out his standard issue pocket Bible and flipped through it until he got to the page of the End of Days section where the symptoms started. "The first is the "silent destruction of the mind"; basically, you start slowly going insane as the Locust toys with you. Then, you start "longing for Blood and Chaos"-basically, you feel like you just wanna kill somebody-sets in the instant your mind is weak. Next, you start involuntarily twitching-what Cynder described as the spasms those holdouts seemed to be going through."

The two mates seemed to be shocked further and further with each new symptom the Captain described. "You hear that, Spyro?"

"Yeah... Never thought I'd be *this* screwed in my entire life." Draknar held up his right hand as if to say "Wait, I'm not finished."

"And finally-this is _**only if**_ the Locust deems you a worthy host, and he _will_, you being a Purple Dragon and all-you'll practically _lose it_. You'll start lashing out at every_thing_ and every_one_ around you; and the only way you're gonna stop is if someone else manages to stop _you_. I don't want to say it, Cynder, but... I'm afraid you're gonna have to be the one to end his life if that happens to your husband."

Cynder reeled back, horrified at the thought of actually having to put Spyro down without any children to carry on his legacy. Besides that, he would die young-_not_ the best time to go! "Can't you guys just euthanize him when that happens?" Cynder pleaded. "Spyro's my mate! I can't just thoughtlessly kill him like I did to hundreds, if not _thousands_ of others while Malefor had me in his grasp!"

"While I wish we could do that for you, Cyn, we can't risk any casualties, military or otherwise," Draknar explained. "Therefore, we're gonna have to get him out of Warfang so as to minimize the risk of a general massacre before we finally put him down."

Cynder wanted to protest the idea of essentially expelling him from the relative safety of Warfang and sending him on a one-way trip to Aurora knows where, but she was without much in the way of charisma despite having the oft-despised-by-her title of Lady, so she decided to keep her black scaled trap shut and cooperated. Two days later, Spyro was released from the infirmary, fully recovered from his anesthesia, yet given what felt like a death sentence.

(The following journal entry is read as Spyro walks through the city to reach a small flat the two had bought two years ago to live in when they weren't on the frontlines of the Second Troll War.)

Thursday, August 16th, 3369 AY

"One year. Only one whole year to live before I start falling under the Locust's control. I know I shouldn't be mulling over such petty details that are the least of my concern right now, but I should at least catch up on my journals, seeing as I haven't written in one since Sunday. Cynder doesn't think she's up to the task of killing me after I start losing my mind. She's trying to vouch for me, saying I'll somehow pull through and survive. Not very reassuring when you know the whole thing's inevitable and the fact she's gonna slash your throat in a year or two.

"But I digress. Flame's told me he'll try to tag along on my way out of town, but Ember's making things difficult for him, saying either she comes along or he doesn't leave at all. Sometimes being the Son of Ignitus just doesn't help, I'll give him that. *ESPECIALLY* now that he doesn't even *have* a father."

The door creaked rather loudly as Spyro entered his room. Most everything was left exactly as it was when he got up two days ago, but some of his smaller personal belongings-his journals, Dragonfly food (in case Sparx ever came to visit), and even a crude pair of goggles a young whelp had made for him in case he ran into a storm system-had already been packed up. Cynder was searching through her own belongings (of which there weren't many) to see if anything was worth taking on a long-term journey. Now, what really stands out in her appearance here is that knapsack on her back; Army surplus, that is. Known as the A-14 Protective Leather Knapsack, it was designed to keep a soldier's essentials safe from any attack from the rear, while at the same time shielding them from whatever the elements could throw at it, or so said the Auroran merchant who sold it to her. Believe you me, it was worth every blue gem she (and the taxpayers, by extension) spent on it!

She had only just opened one of her own journals to the day Spyro proposed to her when he came up from behind and interrupted her train of thought.

"Have I ever told you that knapsack seems to suit you?" Spyro inquisitively asked.

"Yeah... Several times." She turned around, being relatively careful not to slash anything in two with her tailblade. "I hope I'm not being too grabby of your stuff."

"Sounds like something Sparx would say." He looked around, taking in several decorative features of this room, the first-and most noticable and notable-being a map of the Auroran Continent in a wooden frame. Back when Spyro and Cynder were constantly being deployed to the front to boost morale and to help take *very* vital positions, both Dragons had a map in their rooms to figure out where the hell they were exactly being sent. He had marked Warfang with a red X-a "You Are Here" marker, over all else. Cynder took hers down at the end of the War, replacing it with a full color painting of the largest cathedral in Acropolis ("Thank Aurora we weren't married in *that* thing!" Spyro snidely remarked upon seeing it for the first time; the building was about the size of Westminister Abbey, seeing as the Aurorans thought the capital had some sort of divine link with the Heavenly Mother Herself. Cynder would have quickly gone from confident to about as much of a nervous wreck as her mate after a three-and-a-half minute walk down the aisle!), but Spyro kept it so as to remind him that there was a world outside of Warfang.

"I don't think so. Sparx's a tad more snarky than that," Cynder pointed out. "But then again, he's got Flame to contend with." She then quickly snapped shut her journal and slipped it into her knapsack. "Let me tell you, this knapsack's gettin' heavier by the minute. I've got quite a lot of stuff in here, including one favorite novel of mine, your journals, bottles of Liquid Fire-y'know, to set your dead body on fire with..."

"Okay, Cynd? From what Flame's telling me, the lack of my own flame breath upon my untimely death might not be an issue," Spyro quickly interrupted.

"Oh, really?" Cynder questioned, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. The purple dragon nodded in a *very* quick fashion. "From what *Ember's* telling *me*, she's trying as hard as she damn well can to tag along with him; either she comes along, or he doesn't go at all."

Spyro immediately faceclawed, before chuckling at his own expense. "First the fortress walls, and now she wants to tag along on what might very well be my final journey? I mean, come on! She was the *only* "fandragoness", per se, chasing my tail around back in Acropolis two years ago!" Cynder laughed, and put her own tail around Spyro's shoulder.

"Yeah, back then, I thought the whole experience was a culture shock the first time, worth a laugh the second-and then she *CORNERED* you the third time," Cynder joked.

"Hey, if it weren't for Flame's heroics, you wouldn't be wearing that golden anklet right now," Spyro pointed out. Cynder laughed in response; for the first time since he had gotten bitten, they were actually reminiscing about old memories-and this was the dragoness who was going to kill him in a year's time! "So, anyway... Why the heck does Ember want to come with if she knows I'm gonna die?"

"She doesn't. That's the thing," Cynder explained. "I just don't have the heart to tell her." She sighed, as Spyro took a peek out of his window to see the desert sun slowly rising to high noon, raining down intense heat on the fortress. "And besides..." She paused, remembering she had scooped up some information Spyro might have found interesting. "There's something you might be interested to know."

"And what would that be?" Spyro quizzically answered.

"Well... I spoke with Volteer-the motormouth Electric Guardian-about the Locust and that solitary case of the blasted thing..." Her eyes almost teared up at the thought of its eventual destruction of her mate's mind. However, she had to continue speaking; this was important to her, and to her mate, by extension. "...He kept wanting to change the subject, but I did manage to get a few details out of him."

Spyro got out a solitary "heh" at Volteer's expense, seeing as he had never really been able to keep secrets. A running joke within the First Warfang Regiment was that his mouth was hooked up to some energy source in his throat with an on/off switch that had been taped so it was always set to "On", but if you mentioned anything related to the First Battle of Warfang, in which he was clobbered by, embarrassingly, a one-armed Troll on some form of steroid (TGH, anyone?) named Balosar (Most modern historians think a Golem had done the dirty deed, but the stories told of Spyro and Cynder five or six thousand years in the future were prone to exaggeration) he'd automatically shut his mouth in humiliation. "Go on," Spyro spoke, now interested.

Cynder's face went from smiling to an almost neutral, serious look. "You *really* want to know?" she cautiously asked.

"...*Yeah*..." Spyro affirmed.

"I'm dead serious. Do you honest-to-Aurora want to know?" Cynder restated.

"'Course I do! Anything's better than nothing!" Spyro confirmed. He swore to Aurora under his breath that he wouldn't be shocked if Cynder's secret was what he thought it was.

"Alright. Promise me you'll stay conscious when I'm done." Cynder took a deep breath, trying to figure out exactly how to put it. "That first case of the Locust was contracted by... you're not gonna believe this... Malefor himself."

Shock forced its way down through Spyro's spine. He found himself fighting his own legs just to stay on all fours. "...You mean...?"

"Yes. Malefor used to be this great Purple Dragon. According to the Guardians, the war we fought in-the Second Troll War-was originally _averted_ a full sixty-five or so years before it actually broke out thanks to some quick thinking on his part. That's about half a century before _**we**_ were even _born_," Cynder explained. "Trust me, I couldn't believe it either."

"Okay, you're drifting a little off topic here. How did Malefor even *get* the Locust to begin with?"

"Let me put this simply so I don't go spiraling into a long and detailed explanation: Sixty years back, a Troll, convulsing, I might add, decided to take a bite out of him during a border dispute. The Auroran medics he had with him were a little, shall we say, concerned and sent him back to Warfang to make sure he hadn't caught anything dangerous. The Troll would never know it, but the Locust had somehow emerged from its rocky tomb to infect him, and he had, by chance, infected the Purple Dragon of his time. The men in charge of the infirmary-men like Captain Draknar-originally thought it was rabies up until he didn't start foaming at the mouth at the projected time, after which they released him from the infirmary. A few months later he had started mumbling about how he was going to "teach this world a lesson" and that Chaos was his lifeblood, per se. His combat abilities also seemed to grow along with that... _**HATRED**_ for the world."

Spyro then took on a straight face. "Go on," he said.

Cynder walked up to the map as if she were about to view it before continuing on. "The Guardians called an emergency meeting in panic, trying to figure out what was going on within Malefor's mind. That was when the at-the-time newly instated Ignitus brought up the Locust for the first time. Volteer's father was the Electric Guardian at the time, and I kid you not, he swore, up to his dying breath pretty much, that his outlook on the future had completely changed the day Ignitus proclaimed his thoughts."

"What happened to the old fellow, anyway? I thought Dragons lived upwards of about 140 years or something around those lines," Spyro asked.

"They don't keep exact records of a Guardian's death, but I think Volt said the Green Flu got the best of him," Cynder answered. The Green Flu was a strain of influenza that had developed in the Troll Empire. The great historians say that a Trollish diplomat sent to negotiate terms for a land cession had unknowingly carried the virus into the Republic, and unwillingly set up the deaths of thousands of Aurorans and Dragons alike.

"Ouch." He paused for a moment to soak in what he had just been told, before signaling with his wing to continue.

"They said that Malefor was just about to be beheaded to stop the Locust from taking him over completely, but he lashed out against his executioner, and the rest is history. They trapped him in Convexity, but eventually his bonds grew weak and he sent a little telepathic message from beyond the grave, as it were, to Gaul, knowing your time was coming. Next thing Volt knows, he's instated as Electric Guardian and an entire infirmary's ward of eggs, save for you and me, of course, is slaughtered."

Spyro kept getting horrific images of the infirmary massacre each time it was mentioned, even though he never witnessed it. He had found and spoken with one of the Aurorans guarding it the night of the attack only a few months before, and this guy swore he could still hear young whelps screaming and eggs being shattered a full fifteen years later. One account of a Dragon that had been critically wounded in the fight states that another Dragon about his size-it had been that Dragon's thirteenth birthday-had a spear driven into his skull trying to protect his younger brother, who had managed to get out alive thanks to his help. The Ape he took with him... Not so much.

"What about those spirits we saw dragging him down into the Planet's core when we... 'defeated' him?" Spyro asked. "What exactly *were* those things?"

"I guess you could say they were its own Guardians, if I've used the term "Guardian" correctly," Cynder answered. "We didn't defeat him exactly; we could have just weakened his power just enough for them to overwhelm him and finish him off."

Spyro paused once more.

"I've got a picture of his predecessor in my knapsack. Want to see it once you're done fighting nightmares over there?" Cynder asked after Spyro had been silent for more than two minutes.

"Yes, please." Spyro agreed. He shook his head to clear it of all those horrific thoughts swirling about in his head so the Locust couldn't prey on them. The black dragoness then reached into her knapsack and pulled out a picture of another Purple Dragon, who looked about Spyro's size at the time it was drawn. His face looked quite a bit like Spyro's, the only difference being in the number of horns on top of his head (four compared to Spyro's two and Malefor's three) and his eyes being smaller. His tail also possessed a tailblade like Cynder, hinting that he would have been born a Wind Dragon had he not been given purple scales. Cursive Draconic writing at the bottom right corner of the page read "Spydre."

"This is Spydre, the Purple Dragon before Malefor. According to Volteer-or his father, I should say-he could quite possibly be a contender for "Greatest of Them All." They say he was called "a god on earth" by Aurorans and Dragons alike. The Auroran-Dragon alliance hadn't yet run into the Trolls at the time of his death, so the greenskins don't have any account of him."

Spyro held the picture in his front claws, turning it every which way that didn't flip it upside down or turn it over to the back side, taking in every detail. "Why do you think they called him that? It just doesn't sound anything like someone would say about me or the Purple Dragons as a whole," he asked.

Cynder turned her attention back to Spyro. "To that, he finally clammed up! I think he said something like 'He doesn't need to know that yet,'" she replied. She turned toward the door, her eyes still on Spyro, who appeared to be surprised that Volteer _was_ actually capable of keeping secrets. "Just another dark secret that you'll likely never know."

"That wasn't important, anyway," Spyro said. He looked about the room, mentally searching for any other topics, but he came up empty save for the most important question. "When do we leave?" he asked, his tail eagerly swishing back and forth on the bedspread. It was meant for Auroran usage, but the Dragons still slept on or, occasionally, in it like any other Auroran they knew of.

Cynder took out her journal for 3369 AY and flipped to the calendar section, finding the page for August. "We leave two days from now, actually. I admit, it doesn't give you a lot of time to stay in Warfang, but it's the most time I could get," she explained.

Spyro got off the bed and proceeded to comfort his wife/mate. "Come on, it's not your fault I got bitten. I didn't see him until he was right on top of me either, so I've got partial blame for _this_ mess."

Cynder smiled. "Strong words coming from a dead Dragon." She pulled out Spyro's 3369 AY journal and handed it to him. "Here. If anything comes to your attention, just write about it, okay? I gotta take inventory of our supplies so far, see if we've got everything for an excursion out in the desert."

Spyro sat back down on his bed, journal in right front claw. As Cynder turned to leave, something in his recent memory was jogged, and brought to his attention. "Cynd, I forgot to tell you: Flame and I are going out for a bit later today to grab a journal for next year. He thinks that if I'm gonna be gone a whole year until I get 'euthanised'," he said, pulling the spade on his tail across his neck in a cutthroat motion as he did so, "I might as well get mine early, since I'm leaving here for good and all. That okay with you?"

Cynder stopped for a moment and looked back at Spyro, a look of surprise on her face. "I was _just_ about to suggest the same thing!" she exclaimed, putting claw to face in shock. "Aurora, you males seem to like thinking ahead!"

Spyro chuckled. "Actually, Cynd, it was _my_ idea, not Flame's. You know he never thinks of anything until the last minute." He then added, under his breath, "Maybe _that's_ why he saved me from Ember at the last minute two years ago."

Cynder giggled as she got in close to Spyro, eyes still fixated on her mate. "You know, you're right. You're _absolutely right!_" she joked, almost grinning horn to horn. She nuzzled Spyro goodbye just before departing, leaving the Purple Dragon all by himself. Looking out the window once more, he began to wonder just how much he'd be missed by the citizens of Warfang, never questioning the loyalties of all within its fortress walls. It took the thunderous roar of a Hellrainer cannon firing off a blank round to wow those who approached the fortress from the south for him to gain inspiration, snatching a feather pen from his nightstand. He took a few minutes to think about how he wanted to word what he was going to write in it, before opening said journal to a blank page and putting pen to paper, writing the exact same journal entry from earlier this chapter.

Flash-forward much?

Author's Note: _**SEE? **_I _told_ you FWR would return! I admit, WMD has taken up a lot of my time. Being the modern military aficionado I am, I could not help but spend a lot of time I could have spent finishing this chapter researching and writing the blasted thing. But what can you do? When you've got an idea running about in your head, you just gotta keep it off to the side in the face of something you feel is more important, I think. Is this chapter worth the wait, though? I'll let you guys decide. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you guys later!


	8. BC 2: Guiding It Home

Author's Note: In the real world, the one you may have just read all of my work right up to this point in, the famous (to us Spyro fans, anyway) song "Guide You Home (I Would Die for You)" was written by the composer for "Dawn of the Dragon", Rebecca Kneubuhl, as the song heard in the credits to finish off the Legend of Spyro trilogy of games. However, so far, I haven't seen a fic where the song itself is explained in-universe. The two singing voices in the game are inferred to be Spyro and Cynder, and the chorus you hear at about 3:27-3:42 and 3:51 in the video of the song on Aura24's YouTube channel (KlonoaAura, if you wanna look her up) can be inferred to be a crowd of people. I myself am a fan of the song, so this idea came naturally just about as soon as I played it at the same time I was playing _Call of Duty 4._ (Even synchronised it so the epic climax at approximately 2:30 hit just as an exploding barrel took out the majority of the non-immortal NPCs with me in a mission, which happened to be at a checkpoint.) My brain told me something simple: _Write a theroetical origin story for that song in the LoS universe. It's better than a songfic, but I scarcely need remind you that a songfic is actually harder to write than the transpose job you pulled for Sweet Home Minnesota, Digolgrin,_ it said. _I'll give it my best shot,_ I mentally replied, _just as soon as I'm finished with "Of Locusts and Legends Part 2."_

_**So, without further ado, I present to you:**_

_**FWR Bonus Chapter 2**_

_**Guiding it Home**_

Nightfall came quickly and mercilessly to the world, as if an assassin had somehow "gotten the balls" to murder the sun. It also meant that the planet had survived another day in recovery from its near-death experience a day earlier, when Malefor had almost succeeded in bringing an end to the cycle of destruction and bloodshed it had experienced. At the loss of the Dragon Temple, one Guardian, and almost ten thousand Auroran soldiers in the span of three days, two Dragons, it was rumored, had finally put an end to the secret war the Republic had been waging for nearly seventeen years. With its hands now untied, it could now focus on what really mattered: kicking the Troll Empire back out of their country.

Only a few hours earlier, Spyro and Cynder had found their way back to the Auroran frontlines, where much jubiliation, swearing and congratulating ensued. This wasn't Flame's unit, but it happened to be from Warfang, so it had to do until the next day. The only reason they had survived was because Spyro had handed his planetary repair duties off to Aurora (who most soldiers were surprised _actually existed_) in order to remain living at Cynder's side. The topic of marriage was not once brought up by the soldiers, but, then again, noone else knew they had fallen in love with each other but the lovedragons themselves. Spyro would have preferred to keep it that way until they either got back to Warfang or were able to meet up with Flame's squad.

That night, the squad, led by what we humans would call a German Shepard by the name of Sergeant Fresac, began preparing for a well-deserved rest. Soldiers that were still awake were either playing cards, stargazing at whatever was left as cloud cover rolled in to obscure the still twisted and rugged surface of the planet from an orbital view as Aurora continued repairing the damage Malefor had done to it, or out on night watch to make sure no Trolls or other remnants of Malefor's forces would sneak up and ambush the squad. Spyro was one of those who were stargazing, though not in the way you'd expect. Knowing Ignitus, the only Dragon he could ever really call "father", was as good as gone, he was silently praying to Aurora, hoping that he was without pain or suffering wherever he was. Cynder, on the other claw, was off to the sidelines, walking about the soldiers' camp looking for a place to rest should she suddenly gain a tired feeling.

The real man we should be focused on is Private First Class Nayks. Playing himself some cards, he was on quite a roll until _someone_ (namely, the Sergeant) came along and beat him out of his hard earned blue gems with a dead man's hand, indirectly cursing the holder with death later on, as was the common belief. Not one to question someone in authority, he left the table fuming over his loss. Returning to his resting place, he had just begun to lay himself down to sleep when his acoustic guitar seemed to appear out of the corner of his eye. _I was wondering where you went, you sneaky son of a cow!_ he thought. Nayks was a moderately good guitarist, having learned to play from his late older brother, who had been killed during the second year of the Troll War. He inherited that guitar from him, and the two have been inseparable ever since.

The Private evaluated his options, either playing the guitar to raise morale, or just go to sleep and rest up like his Sergeant had recommended, despite being very much awake himself. He knew he could use the rest, but with a war going on around them, music helped with just about any morale-related problem in the military, so it was no surprise that he'd pick up his guitar and leave his resting place.

A short walk brought him to within sight of Spyro. Despite holding no rank in the Army at this point, the Purple Dragon was treated as per normal guidelines for someone like him; that is, with utmost respect and obedience when necessary. "Hey, uh, Spyro?" he began, drawing the Purple One out of his reflective trance. He possessed an accent an Australian on Earth would normally speak with.

Startled, Spyro turned his head to look at the young Blue Heeler [1] Private. "Yes, Nayks?" he replied, curiosity pigued.

Nayks shuffled nervously, now not knowing how to put what he wanted to ask. Taking the informal route, he informed Spyro that "I'm gonna go out to the campfire and play some music for the squad. Anything in particular you want to hear, mate?"

Now, Spyro had little knowledge of Auroran culture. He'd only known of the race for four days now, and already he was being asked if he had a song in mind for the guitarist to play, when in reality, he hadn't heard _one_ since his birth fifteen years ago. This left him with only one response to give. "Uh... I really can't think of any off the top of my head. Just do what you want."

Nayks snapped a quick salute before breaking into a run, reaching the still-blazing campfire in little under half a minute. Finding no existing place to sit near the campfire, he decided to improvise, pulling up a small uprooted tree stump and plopping his tail down on that. Now, the first lesson he'd ever been taught about being a musician, in the military or otherwise, was on how to attract an audience through whatever means available. Since this performance was _very _impromptu, he knew that attracting attention through vocal self-advertisment was never going to work. He tuned his guitar for a bit and played a few practice notes before eventually deciding to let his warmup riffs attract the audience for him.

The very strange groupings of *brrrums* and *brrangs* seemed to attract the two Dragons like moths to an open flame. I know I've said this before, but at this stage, both Spyro and Cynder have no idea what Auroran music was truly like. All they'd ever heard, music-wise, was the pounding of war drums used to set a rhythm for the soldiers to follow. Cynder had heard a few choice notes when on the dark side of the spectrum of light and dark, but those often only served to attract her and were quickly interrupted by sudden cries of shock, followed by the sound of metal tailblade slicing through their clothes and flesh, if she wasn't in the mindset of keeping her victims alive for torture later. Spyro only knew the sounds of the Cheetah village, and only just barely remembered the Dragonflies' constant blowing on improvised instruments made from hollowed-out swamp plants. (In hindsight, any normal Dragon or Auroran would think of Dragonfly music as flatulent, but since Spyro was born and raised a "Dragonfly", he had developed a sense of appreciation for their art alongside omnivority.)

Before anyone even had time to process what they had just heard, Nayks had attracted his audience, which consisted of not only Spyro and Cynder, but most of his _platoon. _He whistled at the very sight of it. "You must really be bored tonight if you came to hear me play, mates!" he exclaimed. A clamor of voices kicked up in reply, all basically saying the same thing; "Heck yeah, we are!" Only the purple and black Dragons remained silent. They were across from each other on opposite sides of the half circle arrangement of Aurorans and some other warrior Dragons, in another attempt to keep their newfound love for each other a secret.

"Well guys, you're in for a treat. A treat for the ears, so to speak." He peered upwards at the obsidian sky, trying to pick out any gleaming stars or the famous twin moons that the planet had as partners in its eternal celestial dance. "I can't bloody see the stars or the moons tonight, so Aurora knows what could happen. All up to chance, it seems," he sighed. Not that it was a bad thing; unpredictability was a big part of these moonless nights. Fresac was off on the circle's outer edge, watching the side of the camp's hilltop for trouble accompanied by two other soldiers.

One of the soldiers grew irritated at Nayks' stalling, and shouted "Just get to the music, Nayks! Spyro and Cynder just saved the damn planet! There's nothin' to worry about!" at the top of his lungs, as he was on the outer edge of the audience. At least two or three soldiers grunted in agreement.

The Blue Heeler shrugged his shoulders in reply. "Didn't have much to say about it, anyway," he grudgingly agreed. "Okay, let's get started." He strummed a few melodious notes before halting to explain what those were part of. "This first song is an old Triask family riff. Been in it for generations, guys. It was only last month when I finally learned the blasted thing..." He took a deep breath at the end of his last sentence to let his anger vent out. It took him a damn long time on leave for him to get it all down; despite it being in the family for ages, it was still pretty hard to learn. According to tradition, in order for him to become the family guitarist, a Triak must play it completely in front of all of his family members with no more than three mistakes. Thankfully, he was able to do it with only two, and even _those _were overlooked in his family's old age.

He sighed once more and looked out into his audience one last time before focusing on his guitar. "Here we go..." he whispered to himself as he struck the first note of the song with his pick in hand.

A little background information on this song before we move on to the meat of this chapter. The song, in its overtones, sounds quite a bit like an old Auroran spiritual, telling the story of creation. It was meant to be played in a concert band, the guitar being the very first instrument heard. As the song continues, more and more instruments are added , symbolizing the order in which Aurora created the planet. A guitarist, who belonged to the Triask family, returned home after one such performance and played the full guitar part for his curious family, since it's eventually supposed to be drowned out by the other instruments. It became so popular within the family that it became the first thing an aspiring guitarist within the Triask family had to learn to play, and was treated as a song in and of itself.

Unknown to Nayks, Spyro and the audience at the moment, however, Cynder had stood up, acting almost nervously during the first twenty seconds of the song. On the initial trip to Warfang, Cynder had learned from Hunter to sing a few notes to lighten the mood of the journey. Now, however, she was absolutely intent on serenading Spyro in front of the gathered soldiers; yet she was trying to bring herself to do it. She had a few words in mind, but, by Aurora, there was a crowd out there! She had _no idea_ how they would react to her suddenly starting to sing to Spyro to the tune of a song that Nayks knew had no lyrics in actuality. Her head was looking at the ground, trying to figure out what to say, her eyes were nervously shifting about the scene, looking for prompts from the enviroment, and her right front leg was scratching the ground. Eventually, as the song reached the "first verse", she got her nerve back, as well as her lyrics in her head, stepped out into the center of the circle, facing Spyro... And began to sing.

_**Cynder:**_

_This is the darkest night_

_Stars have all faded away_

_Quiet upon this world_

_Through the clouds there is a light_

_We will find our way_

_I would die for you_

_Cross the sky for you_

_I will send out a light burning for you alone_

_You're all I need _

_To set me free_

_And this fire will guide you_

_Home!_

She intended to stop _there_ and let the song continue as an instrumental as it was originally written. In fact, she even smiled at Spyro as she finished. However, Nayks multitasked and peered over at Spyro to see his response, finding him in thought as to what to do in response. Without even thinking about it, the Purple Dragon stood up and began to put to the music the first thing that came to mind.

_**Spyro:**_

_There is an open door_

_Somehow it feels so familiar_

_We have been here before_

It was _here_ that he realized that what he was doing just did not match Cynder's message. In fact, it wasn't even _remotely_ related to Cynder's verse at all. His brain rgeb quickly mentally replaced his next few words with something that not only addressed _her_, but the soldiers gathered as well.

_**Spyro:**_

_Through this old forgotten fight_

_There must be a way!_

_**Spyro and Cynder:**_

_I would die for you_

_Cross the sky for you_

_I will send out a light burning for you alone_

_**Cynder:**_

_You're all I need_

_**Spyro and Cynder:**_

_To set me free_

If you were an observer at this performance, you'd be surprised to discover at this point in the song that the two Dragons began to circle each other, as it became evident that they were now singing to each other, not just to entertain the audience as Nayks was intending. This was the first hint to the audience that all was not as the two had made it out to be earlier that day, and that there was something _more than_ friendship in this relationship.

Suddenly, during the second refrain Fresac and his squad of lookouts noticed movement in the forest below the hill. Five Trolls came pouring out of it at top speed, swords and spears drawn, no doubt attracted to their position by the music emanating from the camp. _Damn sneaky greenskins! _Fresac thought. "_**Keep those Trolls ****back****!**_" he verbally ordered, as his group charged down the hill with their _own_ weapons drawn to meet them.

_**Spyro and Cynder:**_

_And this fire will **guide you** _

_**HOME!**_

The two groups clashed swords _just_ as the climax of the song hit. Openings in fighting styles were exploited, Trolls were slain, and all seemed to be going well for the Aurorans, with three alive for them and two alive for the Trolls. Keyword: _seemed. _Meanwhile, Spyro and Cynder's voices seemed to grow so in-tune with each other that it was almost powerful enough to pierce the very heavens!

_**Spyro and Cynder:**_

_**Where our hearts are bode open!**_

Out of the blue, the remaining spearman for the Trolls cut through Fresac's torso like a knife through butter while his guard was down. Much to Corporal Kinet (a Cheetah) and Private Synar's (a Golden Retriever) horror, the tip of the blade was soaked in Fresac's blood, yet the German Shepard did not split in two, even after he hit the ground on his back, still very much alive, yet not for long. Kinet removed his blade from another Troll's chest and kicked his lifeless body downhill before charging at the spearman with his sword sheathed on his back.

Their voices could really only get stronger from there, to the point where it sounded like they had the _**exact same voice**_ as their love for each other grew more and more obvious to the audience.

_**Spyro and Cynder:**_

_**Where our bond is unbroken!**_

Kinet slammed into the spearman's spine, knocking him down and sending his spear flying out of his left hand. Now that the Auroran Cheetah had the upper hand, he got on top of him, sent a powerful right hook down on the Troll's face, then grabbed his head, built up strength by turning it to his left, and finally twisted it to the right with such force that it _broke the Troll's neck!_

_**Cynder:**_

_I would die for you_

_Cross the sky for you_

_I will send out a light burning for you alone_

Kinet did not stop to let the adrenaline vent out of him. He and Synar ran to Fresac's side and found the German Shepard to be very much in pain and near-death. There was nothing they could do for him now, but hearing Cynder's nigh-heavenly voice emanating from the camp gave Synar an idea as to how Fresac should spend his final moments. "Hey, bring him over to the campfire; I think the best part's about to start!" he exclaimed.

The Corporal nodded as he and Synar lifted Fresac up; Kinet carrying him by the arms, Synar by the legs. They set him down on a position where you could just barely see over the shoulders of the audience, which had already gotten on its feet during the climax. The Cheetah nudged his Sergeant's head in the direction of Spyro and Cynder's little "performance", pointing right at it with his right hand. What the Sergeant saw was enough to make him breathe in a sharp intake of air in astonishment.

Now, Spyro had already gotten rid of the idea of keeping him and Cynder's love for each other a secret; in fact, while Nayks was leading up to the final refrain, he even _said_ to himself "Oh, Aurora, _why am I even trying to hide it?_" before both of their mouths opened to continue the song.

_**Spyro and Cynder:**_

_I would die for you_

_Cross the sky for you_

_I will send out a light burning for you alone_

_**Cynder:**_

_You're all I need..._

_**Spyro:**_

_...To set me free!_

Fresac's dying, azure eyes could barely make out the two Dragons encircling each other, proclaiming their love for each other to all present. Suddenly, the pain of death became less relevant; it was the beauty of the scene that brought a tear to his eye, knowing he'd never see such a display again in his mortal life. He gazed up at the jet black sky as that very tear dripped into the sea of grass, and whispered, in prayer, "Aurora, my life is now complete." Kinet and Synar fumbled around searching for a bottle of Liquid Fire or a torch they could put up in tribute, but they, quite obviously, found none and just settled down to watch the show.

Nayks himself smiled at the impromptu concert taking place right in front of him, not letting his arms stop playing the song for fear it would ruin the mood. Suddenly, an old Auroran prayer came to mind that basically proclaimed loyalty to Aurora; all priests and soldiers had to know it by heart in order to get a sense of their duties. His mouth did not hesitate to go forth and recite it; one of the many traits of being a musician was that if he sung or recited a prayer while performing, the audience would feel an obligation to say or sing it along with him. That prayer went like this, minus the Australian accent of Nayks:

_**Audience (and Nayks):**_

_I would die for you  
Cross the sky for you_

_I will wait for you  
And I'll stay with you!_ (x2)

Spyro reeled backwards a couple feet in shock when he first heard the crowd join in the song. His first thought was that they were declaring their loyalty to him just as Cynder was right now! Even s_he_ gave momentary pause to the devotion these Aurorans (and some Dragons) had, however... Not to mention it was also a sign that they now knew what kind of bond was actually between her and the Purple Dragon. Malefor's chain had only strengthened those feelings, oddly enough.

Cynder smiled once more as the audience began their second repetition of the prayer (which neither Dragon truly knew it was until later; it had coincidentally shared a few words with the song) and began to move towards Spyro while continuing to sing.

_**Cynder:**_

_You're all I need..._

_**Spyro and Cynder:**_

_To set me free..._

_(Nayks: Alright mates! You heard the Dragons! One more time!)_

_**All involved:**_

_**TO SET ME FREE!**_

_**Cynder:**_

_And this fire will guide you..._

_Home!_

Nayks recognized Cynder's drawn-out "Home" note as a cue to finish the song. He wound it down almost just like he'd been taught to finish the song that he had been playing all through the impromptu serenade, but he heard something different as he strummed the final notes: Applause. It was normally reserved for after the end of the song, but apparently it was so good with the addition of lyrics that it hit just as he slowed his play down... And only got louder when the song actually ended. He looked up from his guitar to find Spyro and Cynder locked in a long nuzzle, their tails linked to each other. Varying cries of "Hell yeah!", "Congratulations, you two!" and "That was freakin' awesome!" accompanied the thunderous clapping and cheering. Further inspection found that the audience had gotten even larger ever since Cynder sung her first note; even a few _Cheetah Clanners_ had stopped by to check out the situation.

Meanwhile, as the song ended, Fresac let the last remnants of his strength ebb away, using most of it to tear off his own dog tags [2] and hand them to Kinet. Unlike most deaths caused by an enemy weapon, however, he did not give a last gasp before finally succumbing to his wounds, instead dying as peacefully as an old man. His last confirmed words as his eyes shut for the final time were "Tell my wife I died listening to the most beautiful sound in the world." In reality, though, he was another casualty of the "Dead Man's Curse" associated with the dead man's hand in the Auroran Army. His successor, who most Sergeants name upon being promoted, was the Corporal he'd given his very dog tags to. This is per tradition; in the ARA (Auroran Republic Army), the dead Sergeant's tags are often handed to the successor just before being promoted, to remind him of the old leader.

Eventually, the two Dragons broke their nuzzle and were faced by about sixty applauding Aurorans and Dragons. Spyro stepped back from the crowd for a little bit and turned to face Nayks. "Did you know anything about Cynder's little performance before she started singing?" he whispered.

The Blue Heeler shrugged in reply. "Aurora knows, mate. I was just as surprised as you were... As we all were, actually. I'm just the guitarist." He got off the tree stump and stretched his legs and bushy tail for a little bit. "Try as you damn well might, we are _**not**_ going to equal what you two just did tonight. Not for a long time, but I'd venture that your mates Flame and Sparx are going to love it if you were to perform that again in front of them!" he joked. "Anything _else_ you forgot to mention to us?"

Spyro quickly began to blush, rather embarrassingly for a Purple Dragon. "Well, we, uh..." he began, fumbling with his words. Where was a cohesive sentence when he _needed _one, for Aurora's sake? His vocal cords just weren't working with him!

Nayks put his left paw up. "No, no, don't tell me. I don't need to know what in Razgriz's [3] name you two were up to last night." He then scrambled off to clear his head of potentially dirty thoughts, leaving his guitar behind, as well as leaving Spyro to put claw to face. _That's not what I was trying to say! _he wanted to shout after the fleeing Private. _We were just_ _discussing where we wanted this budding romance to go! _He knew the obvious answer to that question, but he didn't feel as if he were ready to bring it up. He knew nothing of the subject at hand, but knowledge of it threatened to bite him and Cynder in their respective tails when they met back up with Flame... Providing he was still alive, of course.

Pessimistic thoughts were quickly interrupted by the tapping of tailblade against back. He turned to find Cynder, grinning ear to ear as if she'd never smiled even once in her life. "What do you say we turn in for the night before these furries start asking for an encore?" she eagerly asked. Spyro had never known her to actually prefer sleep to staying awake and aware, but this was post-Malefor! There was really nothing to worry about anymore except for the Troll Empire, who they both knew deserved a decent tail-kicking before they could really think about romance.

Spyro looked back at the audience that had observed far more than he and his new girlfriend were willing to pass on to them.Knowing Nayks would likely not return to the stump he had been using as a seat for roughly ten minutes, he quickly agreed and sprinted to a spot he had marked with an X-shaped depression in the grass. There wasn't enough hay or straw for both of the newcomer Dragons to sleep on, so sleeping on the ground was the only viable option for them, even if it meant getting a little dirty or uncomfortable. Cynder had also dashed to Spyro's spot, having not found one of her own in the timespan between Nayks' loss to her first note. She skidded to a halt to avoid tripping over his sleeping purple-scaled carcass, as Sparx would have likely referred to the sight, before walking around the yawning Purple Dragon and settling down next to him. Before long, the two had dozed off, but for some reason, the song they had created just a few minutes earlier became permanently etched in their memory. It almost was as if Aurora or some other divine power did not want them to forget it...

Footnotes (Yeah, I put a couple in here. Sue me.)

[1] Blue Heeler: Nickname for the "blue" variant on the Australian Cattle Dog, so-named because of its tendency to nip at the heels of the reluctant cattle it droved. Became popular here in the United States after WWII. Many American soldiers stationed in Queensland or New South Wales took one home to the States with them when they returned.

[2] Dog tags: Many of you might be familiar with this, but dog tags are forms of identification worn by all soldiers. Introduced during the Franco-Prussian War by the Prussian army in 1870, where they were called _Hundemarken_, or, literally, hound markers. Nowadays, the iconic oval tags worn by American troops are the standard-issue dogtags in fiction. Americans were first exposed to a British tag, a circular stainless steel variant, in the cutscene after the mission "Blood Brothers" in the hit 2011 first-person shooter _Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3_. Fun fact: Russia does not use dog tags at all!

[3] Razgriz: This is an _Ace Combat 5: The Unsung War_ reference. The demon was created by Namco exclusively for this game, which, in the author's opinion, has a storyline that pretty much _**rivals **_the _Modern Warfare_ trilogy of games, not to mention being the best _Ace Combat_ of all time. I've also made a few connections to Spyro as well, but you can probably guess what (or whom!) those were made to! This is how the Legend of Razgriz goes, for the uninitiated Spyro fans, or if you flyboys just need a reminder:

_Amidst the eternal waves of time_

_From a ripple of change shall the storm rise_

_Out of the abyss peer the eyes of a demon_

_Behold the Razgriz, its wings of black sheath_

_The demon soars through dark skies_

_Fear and death trail its shadow beneath_

_Until men united wield a hallowed sabre_

_In final reckoning, the beast is slain_

_As the demon sleeps, man turns on man_

_His own blood and madness soon cover the earth_

_From the depths of despair awaken the Razgriz_

_Its raven wings ablaze with majestic light_

Paraphrased, this is how the legend sounds: When history witnesses a great change, Razgriz reveals itself, first as a dark demon. As a demon, it uses its power to rain death and addled misfortune upon the land, and then it dies. However, after a period of slumber, Razgriz _returns,_ this time as a great hero. (That's a hint for those who wish to guess what I've connected this to...)

Author's Note: By the way, _Call of Duty, _the _Modern Warfare _series and _Spyro the Dragon __**do, **_in fact, belong to Activision-Blizzard. _Ace Combat_ and the Razgriz legend belong to Namco Bandai. Okay, on to the meaty bit of this author's note: This songfic is intended to have an acoustic cover of "Guide You Home (I Would Die For You) playing in the background; although it loses a lot of its luster and power when you subtract the instruments playing in the background, this is exactly how I saw the song coming to life in Spyro's world. It's the only way it can truly work out, in my opinion. Hope you enjoyed, and please, review. See you next time!


	9. Out From Warfang PT 1

_The following is taken from a scene from later on in "Dawn of the Dragon." Some modifications have been made in order for it to be a tad bit better in comparison to its actual counterpart. Despite this being an updated intro for this fic, some spoilers for DotD have been left inside. Be warned all ye who hath not completed the trilogy._

*Fade from black into what appears to be a cavern scene. The camera gradually zooms out, revealing large amounts of fire as it keeps pulling back. The logo of Digolgrin Enterprises (Think of my avatar on and Twitter winking while flapping his wings once, before the text, in a white Franklin Gothic Medium font, fades in and turns the avatar into a silhouette of Spyro on a white background) fades in for a few seconds before fading out again. We can now hear Spyro's voice echoing in the background...*

"Ignitus! Let's turn back! There's got to be another way!"

*The names of the voice actors for Spyro and Cynder, Elijah Wood and Christina Ricci, fade onto the screen as the situation becomes recognizable just from Spyro's voice alone. These are the last few seconds of Ignitus' mortal life.*

"Spyro... Cynder... I've never done right... By either of you." Heavy breathing became audible here as his stamina finally began to run dry. Spyro's plea, "What are you saying?" is omitted here, seeing as it's probably one of the more "narmtastic" parts of Ignitus' death. "Allow me to do this. My path ends here! But yours lies beyond this!"

*The flames grow so intense that the cavern we could see early on has practically vanished in a wall of fire. Thankfully, this would be in CG, and therefore our little camera won't overheat. To take its place, the camera pans towards a blue light that is gradually gaining strength, visible throughout the inferno. The voice actors for Flame and Ember then fade onto the screen; Nolan North and Amy Palant, respectively.*

"Draw strength from each other and follow your heart... It will never fail you." One of the black beings within the center of the light, a large one, then turns towards one of the two smaller ones. "And please... Take care of my son. Now go. Go! GO!"

*The light greatly intensifies, to the point where it seems to eliminate even the flames surrounding it. After a few seconds spent in this bloom transition, we cut to Ignitus, now succumbing to the immense inferno that is, or was, the Belt of Fire. The names Gary Oldman and Stuart Brown (Better known as XboxAhoy) then fade in; Ignitus and his replacement, respectively. The iconic monologue that's opened two of the Legend of Spyro games then kicks in.*

"That was the last act I ever performed as Guardian of Fire. Ironic, isn't it? I was born a fire Dragon, and I die enveloped in flame. If the Destroyer hadn't performed that last act of defiance, I would probably be dying an old Dragon. But there I was, burning to death in the last place I saw myself dying. I was glad when it all faded to black. But then, I heard a voice."

"Ignitus! NO!"

"It was that of Spyro calling out to me. Odd that I'd wind up hearing it, seeing that I was supposedly dead and rightfully shouldn't hear the voices of those still living. I should have known right then and there that something was wrong. Wrong in a right way, of course."

*The fade to black is accompanied by a small grid. A small moving portrait of Spyro then pops onto the screen. This is quickly joined by Cynder's, and becomes more numerous as the scene continues.*

"Instead, I began to hear even more voices. Spyro's voice was joined by Cynder's, two voices became four, four became ten, ten became one hundred, and a hundred became... Innumerable. That was when I realized that I might not be heading for Heaven after all, and that maybe the Chronicler had something in mind for me. Never did I imagine the burden that would be laid upon me when all was over and Malefor was defeated."

*Bloom transition to Ignitus' new job as Chronicler. The voice actors for Sparx (yes, he's due to make an appearance in this fic) and Tarsil then fade onto the screen; Wayne Brady and Lance Henrikson. Thank Aurora Sparx's voice didn't change again!*

"He chose me to replace him as the Chronicler of what we now know as the 'Spyroean' era, him having served through two Purple Dragons, only staying through the second, Spyro, to see what would happen with Malefor should he be freed. Having known Malefor before his start of darkness, I could understand his feelings, but we all knew what was going to happen... Until *he* proved us wrong, restoring the world and defeating his own predecessor with the help of Malefor's former protege."

*We see events that have taken place between Malefor's demise and the present day. The events of Bonus Chapter 2, "Guiding It Home", are first visible, but go unmentioned by Ignitus. The rest appear as they are mentioned below. More names fade onto the screen, this time for the voice actors of Vertas and Chancellor Arex; Scott Hill and Paul Eiding. (Johnny Klebitz from Grand Theft Auto IV and its expansion The Lost and Damned, and Colonel Campbell from the Metal Gear Solid games (those that take place during Solid Snake's story, anyway) respectively.*

"Now, I can only observe and, as my new title suggests, chronicle the events, never participate in them. I saw my own son, Flame, break down in tears after hearing of my death, and the appointment of my successor. But by no means was he to take command of the Guardians militarily; I left Terrador to perform that duty, as per my will, but in the event of his death or resignation, my successor was also chosen to be next in line over those two babbling idiots Volteer and Cyril. I was also able to witness the end of the Second Troll War between the Auroran Republic and the Troll Empire, and the wedding of the two heroes I had given my life to help across that accursed Belt of Fire. (That was when I began to split the Spyroean era down the middle, calling the current time the "Balance of Power" era, and everything before the marriage of Spyro and Cynder became known as the "Transition" era.) My eyes also witnessed the very beginnings of a relationship between my son and a pink-scaled dragoness whom I will likely never meet."

*We now cut to Ignitus, as he closes the book in his claws, titled "The Balance of Power", and puts it back on a shelf. Spyro's book begins glowing as he utilizes the newfound ability of telekinesis to extract that one from the same shelf. The last few voice actors introduced during the Ignitus portion of this chapter, namely those for the remaining Guardians from the beginning of the Spyroean era, fade onto the screen; Jeff Bennett, Corey Burton, and Kevin Micheal Richardson, coincidentally also playing Prowlus. They are, in case a reminder is necessary, Cyril, Volteer and Terrador, respectively.*

"But, even through all the happy, sorrowful and sometimes downright scary events of the past two years, I have overlooked one major problem."

*He opens Spyro's book as soon as it drifts into his right front claw and opens it to the newly inscribed page, where a Locust has been drawn next to his portrait, representing his recent infection.*

"Malefor has accidentally, or on purpose, I cannot determine which, reawakened the Lord of the Locusts with his attempt to destroy the world. While he still lingers in his stone prison, I cannot help but wonder if he himself knows that times have changed. The Republic fields massive Hellrainer cannons, a well-trained army, and have the backing of Spyro and Cynder. Without those Dragons, they will crumble in the face of a foe older than the Republic, the Guardians and the Empire combined."

*The book closes after he writes the words "His greatest risk yet" next to the Locust picture.*

"The End of Days will come, and all will be lost to him. Any that survive will be powerless to resist him."

*He then faces the camera after letting Spyro's book drift back into its original location.*

"But, you will know that in due time. The Dawn of the Dragon will pass in due time. For now, you are a guest in this world. You will pay witness to what could become a battle of nigh-Biblical proportions. Spyro and Cynder might survive and win, or they might fail and bring an end to the world as you and I know it. All could return to normal, or it could become a struggle to survive. All I know is, it will be a fight... For whatever remains."

*Cut to the title zooming onto the screen as Ignitus fades out. After spending a few seconds staring at the title, it fades out and another bloom transition takes its place. The camera then pans down from the sun towards Fortress Warfang, commencing the meat of this chapter.*

**For Whatever Remains**

**Chapter 6**

**Out from Warfang**

**Part 1**

Commerce central, Warfang. Two days have passed since we last left Spyro and Cynder in their flat in the residential district of the city. I should probably make this clear from Chapters 2 and 4, since you may remember that the actual Dragon Temple from the games was lost during the Malefor debacle; the Guardians did relocate to a new Temple of sorts. The private retreat of the Chancellor's family, immense in size thanks to it being the original Dragon Temple before the Guardians relocated to a more discreet location by order of Chancellor Arcturus (Arex's late great-grandfather) in 3255 AY, resumed service as the Temple from the Second Battle of Warfang onwards. Arex made a proclamation from the old Temple after the battle stating that he would provide anything to restore the Guardians to their former glory; unfortunately, that "anything" included giving it back to those who built it in the first place, teaching the young Chancellor to watch his mouth whenever he said "literally anything," as he would now have to share it with approximately 250 young Dragons and Dragonesses whenever he visited Warfang. _Ouch. _

Digression aside, we now return to your regularly scheduled programming. Spyro, Flame and Cynder were cutting through the market on the way to the Dragon Temple to say farewell to the Guardians; Cynder and Flame would say it 'for the time being', while Spyro was going to be doing it for the final time. The loss of Ignitus, who was a hundred twenty-seven at the time of his death, also disheartened the Guardians, but a successor to him was found in the form of... Well, we'll introduce him later. Let's just get down to cases and listen in on the conversation, alright?

"So, Flame, how are negotiations with Ember going?" Spyro asked. Ever since Cynder informed him about Flame's predicament, he had been offering suggestions to the maroon Dragon to help keep her off his back. Today was the deadline for a deal to be reached, as, if you remember, they were leaving Warfang for parts unknown that day.

_**Yevgeni Laitsev as Emperor Thorn**_

_**Jennifer Hale as the Hooded One**_

Flame shook his head in response. "I finally gave in this morning. Haven't told her yet, but she's too persistent. I'm guessing being upper-class gives her some distinct advantages at persuasion," he replied. The Corporal hadn't had much time to prepare counterarguments, but when your primary school of thought is in medicine and tearing inhumanly large gashes in Troll soldiers, which he hadn't the courage, or all that many chances to do, you lose some of your logistic and persuasive speaking skills. He hung his head in exaggerated shame for a split second, but Cynder had put on a sly smirk knowing that her friend had beaten out the lowliest of Dragon grunts once more in a war of words.

"Flame, her presence isn't gonna be that horrible. She's not your ex-girlfriend or anything, and besides..." she began, turning to her mate, "...The best relationships begin when you're kinda... _stuck together_ for a certain period of time, I found."

Flame scoffed once more. "That was only because he already had feelings for you before Balosar and his men put that snake... chain... _**thing**_ around your necks!" he retorted. Suddenly, something came over him; what _was_ it with retaliatory insults around Cynder and/or Spyro that generated this sort of guilty feeling? Did they somehow gain mind powers that suppressed insults or something? Either way, he felt as if he needed to admit something. "I mean, you're right, Cynd, I do have feelings for her... They're just not as strong as your feelings toward Spyro here."

_**Steve Blum as Lucius Down**_

_** Kiefer Sutherland as Sergeant Vizef**_

Spyro let out a solitary 'ha!' "They're stronger than you think!" he joked. It had been a running joke with Flame that whenever he brought up his relationship with Ember and how weak it felt compared to the feelings Spyro had for Cynder, he would always remind the Corporal that there were stronger feelings hidden beneath the surface; he just had to find them. It got to the point where serious advice became literal tongue memory, since he just couldn't find the right form of expression.

"Ah, shut up," Flame replied.

_***Wilhelm scream!***_

Suddenly, a known Auroran thug flew out of the alleyway to their left, skidding right past Cynder, and colliding with a nearby wall on the righthand side of the street before falling on his chest, unconscious. Considering how close they were to the Temple, it came as no surprise to the Dragons who was doing the skull-bashing. "_Durandal!_" they collectively agreed before hitting the deck for another thug to fly past. Unlike his friend, however, he immediately got back on his feet and fled for his life, screaming that he was regretting everything he'd ever said about the Dragons. Even 2,400 years after the discovery of the Dragons, there were still some dissidents within the Republic. While the first few movements denounced Dragons as barbaric and impure, these days the anti-Dragon activists began to cite them as power-hungry and were prone to betrayals; Malefor to a T.

Within five seconds, the alley was quiet again. An adult Fire Dragon, red-scaled and with four horns, in similar placement to Cynder's, strode out of it, throwing another unconscious body at the feet of the three Dragons in front of him. He wore an old pendant around his neck that had been passed down in his family through the ages; supposedly, it gave him good luck. This is Durandal (Pronounced Du-rahn-dal), Ignitus' replacement as Fire Guardian.

_**Glenn Close as Gran'ma Rose Ben**_

_**Brad Swaile as Jon Oaks**_

Now, you may be wondering: _Digolgrin, you said so yourself-Flame is the Son of Ignitus. Volteer was the son of the Electric Guardian of Malefor's time, and he became Guardian after his father's death. Why hasn't Flame succeeded his father as Fire Guardian?_ The answer is simple; Flame's too young to really be an effective Guardian. He would be overwhelmed by all sorts of responsibilities he'd have rather eased into with his father's help, but with his being kinda... cremated in the heart of the Belt of Fire leaving behind an seventeen-year-old-at-the-time son with a military rank of Private First Class, the Guardians decided to make him the "de facto" successor to Durandal; no matter his age when the new Guardian either died or resigned, he would be chosen to take his place. Definitely worth considering.

Durandal was famous for three reasons; One, he was the highest ranking Dragon in the military to ever be inducted as Guardian, at the rank of General. Terrador came in at a close second with the rank of Colonel before becoming a Guardian himself. (Volteer was a scholar at the time of his induction, hence his wide vocabulary, and Cyril, though his body was still aching from the First Battle of Warfang, was inducted from his "royal" heritage. By that he means his family used to have control over Warfang until the Republic became a democracy.) Two, in his spare time, he wrote a series of books that dealt with the workings and history of Auroran weaponry; the most famous being "Durandal's Siege Weapons and Artillery". These books weren't allowed to be openly sold to the Troll Empire for the simple reason that the greenskins would exploit the weaknesses he pointed out. As for the third reason... Well, let's resume.

The Fire Guardian rested his right front claw on the unconscious thug he had laid out like a rug. The Snow Leopard was bruised on the left side of his face, likely from him being smacked across the face by Durandal's tailspade, and his eyes were very much shut. Flame would have called it blunt force trauma that had done him in for a couple of hours, if not more, while the former General would refer to the idea of a medical explanation for injury-induced unconsciousness as simply "a bruised ego." Either way, Durandal had nothing to fear from a few Aurorans that were clearly smaller than him; even General Tarsil, the tallest Auroran in Warfang, is shorter than an adult Dragon, which should come as no surprise.

"You can get off the street now; I think people are looking at you funny," Durandal greeted the Dragons. His voice was deep. He would have bore a British accent on Earth, namely someone from the town of Preston in said country. Slowly but surely, the three teenage Dragons got back onto their four legs, and looked up at the massive red-scaled Guardian. He then brushed his left front claw across his face. "Aurora, if I'd known this vigilante job would keep bringing you folks to within fifty feet of where I'm fighting, I'd have quit the whole thing and handed it all to you... But of course, you've already got your claws full with other stuff," he complained. That's right; Whenever there was a dry-up of students to teach or other Guardian work for him to perform, he took up the role of vigilante, keeping his memory of combat fresh in case something resembling the Second Battle of Warfang, a Troll attack on Warfang that didn't have Malefor's dirty claws in it this time, were to happen again.

_**Robin Atkin Downes as Captain Fasnir**_

_** Mark Hamill as Malefor**_

"You damn well better, sir; _**you almost bowled Cynder over on her side!**_" Flame fumed at the Dragon he was meant to succeed as Fire Guardian. This got a dirty, almost threatening look from Spyro, who'd taken up the mental task of keeping him from going down the dark side; that is, making sure he snarks in moderation in order to prevent him from gaining an overly sharp tongue.

Durandal's eyes lit up with realization before he went into apologetic mode. "Oh, pardon me, Lady Cynder. There's one more reason for me to take up a different hobby," he apologized.

Cynder accepted Durandal's apology. "You're forgiven, Durandal," she replied. "Just leave the crime fighting business to me at night, and _you_ can rest easy and focus on your Guardian work!"

To Spyro, the thought of his mate going out at night to dispatch criminals was about as absurd as her bearing children before she *ahem* sped up his passing. He'd tried it several times before, but as a lot of things were back in the Great Depression of 1930's AD fame, sex isn't easy to earn laid eggs with. And yes, I did just say that. Flame entertained it in his mind, but he, like Spyro, didn't want a repeat of the "Turnscale Slasher" incident. At the moment, however, he was wondering why she hadn't flatout shot down being called by her title of "Lady" just a few seconds ago. "I thought you _hated_ being called Lady Cynder!" he exclaimed.

_**Boris Kievsky as General Kingdok**_

Cynder's reply was quick and to the point. "Not if they're formal about it. If it's either an apology, a Guardian addressing me as such, or in any situation where I'm actually wearing something formal (Dress armor, parade armor, etc; feel free to add on, two imaginations are better than one!-author), I'm okay with being called a Lady. Did you forget?"

Durandal nodded as he began to lead the Dragons down to the Old Temple-the Guardians' name for their new home. "Of course. I can't say Spyro chose you well, as I, quite frankly, was far too busy being introduced to the duties of a Guardian to attend your wedding in Acropolis, but then again, Arex's decision to give you that title was... shaky at best," he proclaimed. "Just a dent on the reputation of an otherwise commendable man."

This caused a smile to streak across Spyro and Flame's faces. "Truer words were _never spoken_, General!" Flame commended. Now, before you come after me saying that Guardians never bring any titles or military rank with them to the Temple, let me add this detail; Flame was one of the last people to call him by his old rank, simply because he still knew him as General Durandal, chief commanding officer of the 82nd Division. Tarsil was leapfrogged into that position when the then-newly inducted Fire Guardian signed his own honorable discharge papers, eventually being joined by other famous Auroran generals from across the Republic to create what the 82nd and the other divisions stationed at Warfang call "the Generals"; the officers in charge of the entire fortress's complement of soldiers. The idea was that five heads were better than one.

Even Durandal had to chuckle at the title these days. "Corporal, my days as a General are long over," he began as they arrived at the Old Temple. "My time is now filled with lessons to give and meetings to attend... Speeches to give when necessary. The stuff retirement is made of." Pressing his left front shoulder against the massive stone door leading into the Old Temple and pushing, he found that the door was quite unresponsive. He continued to push on the main entrance door a few times before deciding that, as with most occasions involving a door locking up on him, common with the age of the building the Old Temple resided in, force was necessary. "Whelps and hatchlings these days are actually... *grunt* ...Quite attentive and questioning of their surroundings. You teenaged Dragons, on the other hand," he continued, putting his back into a shoulder barge of the door, "just can't wait to get back to your rooms, or barracks, in Flame's case, and... Do whatever the _**bloody hell**_ it is you _**do there!**_" He grunted as he put several hundred pounds of force into another barge. This time, the door gave in and flew open, but thankfully, it didn't fly off its hinges, as it was prone to do when that much force was imparted on it. "No offense."

_**David Hayter as Rock Jaw, Master of the Western Border**_

_** And Craig Houston and Sven Holmberg as the two Stupid, Stupid Greenskins**_

Spyro shrugged with his wings as he looked back at the large door, having been frozen shut by Cyril to make up for the lack of locks. "Well, look on the bright side; You won't have to worry about me not paying attention to your lessons anymore," he acknowledged. They pushed onward through the foyer into a long hallway, with doors on each side of them leading into different Dragons' rooms.

_He has a point_, Cynder thought. She nodded as she prepared her next few words. "I bet you've been told this already, but Spyro was-"

"Infected. By the Locust, I heard. I don't live under a rock, Cynder, and neither does Warfang."

Durandal was right. Warfang had been all sorts of abuzz with the news that Spyro had been infected with the Locust during the skirmish with the last of the Troll holdouts four days earlier. Most people who had memory of Malefor before his imprisonment were already dead, either by Cynder's hand or otherwise, so the Locust was a big unknown-even the town crier had no clue what it was-but those who had avidly studied the Bible knew what had happened, and that the Spyro they knew about was going to die. The disease isn't terminal, the author must remind you, but causes gradual sanity slippage until the mind eventually submits to the will of the Locust or the Locust decides its host is not a worthy one.

_I knew it,_ she rethought.

Spyro looked down at his front claws for a brief moment. "That's the whole reason we're here, actually. We leave Warfang this afternoon, and we just thought we'd drop by to say..." he started, hesitating at his last few words, "goodbye to the Guardians."

Durandal's head turned towards the Purple Dragon. Despite rumors, and looks, Durandal had firmly denied that he was related to Cynder in any way he knew of. "Oh, so that's why you came into my vicinity, is it? To say farewell?" Spyro and his mate collectively nodded. "Well, I think I may have something to show you all before you depart."

They were speechless for a time as they continued through the Old Temple, periodically turning their heads to gaze at the murals on the walls, one of which was actually painted by the married Spyro and Cynder one month before their first anniversary, detailing the redemption of Cynder at the top and middle parts and, at the bottom, their eventual union, which, in all honesty, Ember helped with. Eventually they came to a hallway with two double doors at the end of it; the doors on the right, Durandal pointed out, were the entrance and the doors on the left were meant to be the exit. "Here we are, the Hall of the Greats. And yes, that's meant to be plural," Durandal introduced what was behind the double doors. "Apart from us Guardians and the Purple Dragon, noone else is to be allowed in right now; the public's still got that bitter taste of Malefor in their mouths, so to speak."

Spyro attempted to push the entrance doors open, but was stopped by the Fire Guardian. "Ah ah. I might have been a General in the past, Spyro, but I'm not an absolute idiot when it comes to trivial matters such as manners and chivalry. Let the Lady do the honors."

"Thank you, Durandal." Spyro stepped back, a small scowl on his face directed at the red Dragon, as Cynder moved forward to take his place. A few audible, girlish grunts later, the doors gave way and smoothly slid open. "Nothing to it!" she exclaimed.

Flame, despite his finally getting to see one of the Old Temple's secrets, couldn't help but chime in. "Sure, but a few more grunts like that, Cynd, and you're gonna get some very dirty thoughts stuck in my head." he chuckled as he followed Spyro through.

"Shut up," the black Dragoness admonished, giggling at the end of her sentence. The Fire Guardian couldn't help but give a hearty laugh as he squeezed through the closing double doors; an audible *ka-lunk* signifyed its being sealed once more.

_**To Be Continued**_

Author's Note: The day this goes up, January 22nd, marks the one year anniversary of FWR Chapter 1 being posted here on . I agree, I should have worked on this more than I did last year, but hey, that's my New Year's Resolution for the Year of the Dragon; work on my Spyro stuff more and play video games on the side. I feel like I'm tempting fate by saying this right now, but at the time of writing (January 19th) I'm planning a content dump to celebrate this. Normally I save these for long breaks or three-day weekends, but worry not; this will not go uncelebrated. Review if you enjoyed, and I'll see you all later!

Oh, I might wish to add that more VAs will be added as characters are introduced; these are just some of the plot-important ones to _Bone,_ as well as those for the Auroran characters introduced thus far.


	10. Out From Warfang PT 2

**For Whatever Remains**

**Chapter 7**

**Out from Warfang**

**Part 2**

No other Dragon apart from the Guardians has ever seen the Hall of the Greats since their move to the Old Temple two years ago. It has been closed to the public until, the Guardians said, Aurora can look back on Malefor's life without grimacing at the thought.

However, you wouldn't be able to tell that from a glance, for the Hall of the Greats was beautifully designed, as the three Dragons noticed as they strode through the door. The ceiling was lined with dark oak on the edges, with fine marble making up the majority of it. Natural light streamed in from perfectly positioned windows on the west wall, although braziers still existed for nighttime usage, where fire is much easier to use than moonlight. Even now, in the day, they still blaze for this reason.

The main attraction, however, were the golden statues lining the walls. There were about twenty or so to a side in this section of the Hall, all of Purple Dragons from cycles gone by. Now Cynder and Flame all understood why they hadn't been allowed in here, apart from Malefor's reign of terror, of course; they couldn't risk vandalism provoked by sheer possible hatred for Purple Dragons in general.

"You might know this already, but each statue in this room represents one Purple Dragon," Durandal began. "However, we aren't talking about just ordinary Purple Dragons-oh no! As you may have gathered from this place being called 'The Hall of the Greats', every Purple Dragon the Guardians have perceived as the standouts, the cream of the crop, the top of the food chain-I apologize if I sounded a little bit like Cyril there-and, yes, _great_, have earned the honor of having their names, figures, and deeds permanently forged into history." New Guardians never refer to the group as a whole as "we" when talking about it being applied to something. Call it arrogance, transitional, whatever your cup of tea, but that's the way it is.

The first Dragon statue that caught Spyro's eye as he glanced about the room was that of Malefor's predecessor, Spydre, whose picture Cynder had shown him only two days before. Just like in the picture, he was about his and Cynder's size, not accounting for pavilions. In fact, _**all**_ of the statues were about their size; he just hadn't noticed it.

At the foot of each pavilion was a plaque detailing various things about that Purple Dragon; his name, birth and death dates, notable deeds and facts, and vice versa, all signed by the Guardians of that Dragon's cycle. Those Guardian names with slashes followed by another name represented those Guardians who died during that age and the name after the slash was that of the Dragon who replaced him. The statues preceding Spydre, and the one after him, all had the name of a sort-of fifth Guardian etched onto it; a Guardian of Wind, who Spyro knew had been killed about nine years into the Republic's war against Malefor, during the former's age, back when Cynder and the Ape Clan were the primary threats and the Dark Master bore no risk of revival. This is what Spydre's plaque read:

_**Spydre**_

_**(3145-3241)**_

_**Birth Element: Wind**_

_**-Nicknamed "God on Earth"**_

_**-First Purple Dragon to fly around the Continent**_

_**-First instance where a Purple Dragon nominated a Guardian to his position (Fire Guardian Firaxis)**_

_**-Led Auroran people to Razgriz Mountains for first time**_

_**-Made first contact with Ape and Cheetah Clans**_

_**Signed henceforth,**_

_**Fire Guardian Balmung/Firaxis**_

_**Earth Guardian Granitus  
Electric Guardian Ampere/Cylander**_

_**Ice Guardian Unika/Arcturus**_

_**Wind Guardian Zakeras**_

"Impressive life," Spyro said to himself. Turning around, he began to check the next statue when he caught a glimpse of the statue of a Dragon who definitely looked familiar to him. Closer examination revealed two telltale signs that he was correct: The statue had three horns-two on the sides of his face and one on top of his head-and his tail was in the apparent configuration of an Electric Dragon. Combined with his eyes, the young Dragon was shocked to have discovered the statue of his long-dead nemesis, Malefor. Volteer's uncle may have been right about him being one of the greats, but later events should have changed his mind.

He was too caught up in reading the statue's plaque to say anything at first, believe it or not. It took Flame to really break him out of his "I can't believe it" trance. "Hey Spyro, what're you looking at-whoa."

Something inside the Purple Dragon sneered at the golden statue of his fallen adversary, but another part of him wished he'd had a chance to engage him in a battle of wits before fighting him. He could recall some very good points that had been posed to him before even facing Malefor; the city on the Destroyer's back, the Purple Dragon scriptures in the ruins of Warfang, and, even now, the revelation that there were indeed other Purple Dragons all suggested that Malefor may have been right and that Spyro's own background had turned his back on what he was supposed to be doing. In his heart, however, he knew he could not turn his back on the Republic for some petty prophecy of death and destruction-and after all, he was going to be dead in a year or two anyway, so why tempt fate by thinking about it all now?

But only now did he finally decide to speak to Flame. He was done brooding. "This might sound a little disrespectful to the dead, but this, given a few feet in standing height, was the monster who did in your father," he began. "Of course, he was old anyway, but if it hadn't been for the Destroyer, I'd imagine all of us crowding around his deathbed right about now."

Flame had never seriously antagonized Malefor, not even when he decided to destroy the world. He always left that to the Guardians and those crafty propaganda writers in Acropolis. In his eyes, he could not be stopped by no other mortal beings than his old man and the Purple Dragon. Call it overconfidience in one's father, but that was the way he saw it. Still, the thought of his father dying a more painless death than what he actually got unburied an age-old hatchet, which he never used in total anger. Ignitus was already gone, there was no changing that. "I wonder where the bastard is now," he thought out loud. "Probably rotting in Hell, but you never know for sure whether there even is an afterlife."

"Cynder and I spoke with your father before we got married. Y'know, giving her his blessing and all that."

In the back of his mind, Flame knew Durandal would be slightly puzzled at this revelation, knowing that, under normal circumstances, the groom seeing the bride before she walked down the aisle was considered bad luck. However, from the ashes of anger rose a faint glimmer of hope that he might see him again when he passed on. "I'm surprised karma didn't smack you upside the head until two years later!"

"Ah, shuddup!"

"What's all this ruckus about, then?" Durandal finally interrupted. Cynder became alert, ready to deflect or stop Flame from trying anything snarky.

"We're just, uh, having a look at this statue, General," Flame managed to put together.

"Durandal, I just don't believe this. I know Volteer said he was one of the great Purple Dragons, but after he started calling himself "the Dark Master" and the Guardians imprisoned him, you'd think they'd reconsider!" Spyro exclaimed.

Durandal was quick to correct the young Purple Dragon. "Spyro, this statue was actually put up after he was initially imprisoned in Convexity, literally ten years after the end of the First Troll War and one year after he managed to avert another conflict with the Empire. No doubt Cynder told you that already. In fact, the Dragon you see before you is the main reason the Guardians have had to deny public access to the Hall of the Greats. They plan on reopening it as soon as Malefor can be forgiven for his transgressions against both the Imperial Army and the Republic."

Which, Spyro thought, is unlikely to happen in the next ten or so years. "Uh huh. Then who's this open spot for?" he asked, gesturing with his tail at the empty pavilion to his right, facing the Malefor statue.

Luckily for him, Cynder had noticed it long before he did, and had a vague, if not spot-on, idea who it was reserved for without looking at the plaque at its base. She just had to guess... Right? "Spyro? I... I think this is meant for you."

Spyro faceclawed. It should have been obvious to him from the moment he set eyes on it! The irony was right there: Two archenemies facing each other in a symbolic trance. Why didn't he see it before? But therein lies the greater glory; this was Warfang's parting gift to him. Relative immortality. He would be remembered for generations to come, and, if he was lucky, the one that all other Purple Dragons would be compared to. Of course, Flame couldn't keep his mouth out of the deal.

What did he do? He whistled. "Lucky!" he exclaimed, dropping one of his well-developed (and infamous) snark bombs in the process. Thankfully, Cynder was there to keep him in check while Spyro was reading the plaque, which, as I'm sure you'd probably want to know for imagery purposes, read:

_**Spyro**_

_**(c. 3353-3370)**_

_**Birth Element: Fire**_

_**-Defeated Dark Master Malefor**_

_**-Third Purple Dragon to come from unlikely background**_

_**-Headed defense of Warfang from Imperial troops during Second Troll War (3364-3367)**_

_**-Thirteenth Purple Dragon to marry (Mate/Wife: Cynder the Dragoness)**_

_**Signed henceforth,**_

_**Fire Guardian Ignitus/Durandal**_

_**Earth Guardian Terrador**_

_**Electric Guardian Volteer**_

_**Ice Guardian Cyril**_

_**Wind Guardian Andros/Cynder (unofficial)**_

At that very moment, Cynder put on one of those death glares that seemed to basically say "One more peep, and I'll gut you." All Flame could do was shrink from his "high and mighty snarkitude" form into his standard-issue unassuming stance, looking quite a bit like the possibly forty statues in the room. Having been cleared of critics, Spyro felt vindicated enough to thank the new Fire Guardian for all his work. "I couldn't be more honored, Durandal. Thank you-not just for the statue, but for everything you and your predecessor have done for me over the years."

He extended his left claw for Durandal, which the former General gladly shook. "Well, I must say, it's been a pleasure knowing you. It just isn't right to see you go so soon; that much is certain. Your place in this hall was the least I-well, we could do for you."

And that's saying something, Flame thought. He knew enough about the other Guardians that he could make a claim about anything related to the military or other hot button topic in front of both Volteer and Cyril and let the chaos between them unfold while he made an escape, so it was a decent surprise to discover they actually agreed on something for once.

"Well, I'll let you go then. Feel free to browse around, although I'm afraid you might get bored after a while..." He sighed. "Like most Dragons your age."

While the offer was tempting to Spyro, he shook it off knowing he'd take all night to get finished up with observing all the statues. The average history buff might take a few hours, but a Purple Dragon? Ridiculous amounts of time. That was when they decided to take off and make sure the other Guardians weren't forgotten as they prepared to leave Warfang.

Cynder wasn't even halfway out the door, which was so heavy that it almost looked like it was being held open by Flame's sheer chivalry more than his own whelpish strength, when Durandal called after her. "Yeah?" she responded.

"That was a nice performance you two gave last night. Very touching."

"Seriously?"

"Come on, would a Guardian ever lie? I swear, if you come back in time for Memoriam Day, you will most definitely be the lead performer. Don't know how you'll do without him, though."

"Oh, I think I can manage," she said with a trademark smirk on her face.

And somehow, Flame was still holding on to the door. "Er, Cynd? *grunt* Might wanna hurry up before this... *oomph!* Bastard of a door crushes me!"

"Coming!" And with that, Cynder darted out of the room, leaving the Hall of the Greats behind her. It was with much gratitude that Flame let go of the exit door, leaving them very much alone in the hallways of the Old Temple. Thankfully, the architects had thought ahead about such an occurance and placed maps throughout the building; following them out was easy enough.

This kind of farewell, minus the complement about the concert and the Hall of the Greats, was true for all the remaining Guardians. I won't go into detail, since I believe that would take up too much time and not be in accordance with the purpose of this chapter, so let's jump forward a couple hours to the north Gate of Warfang.

A massive fire-lock gate, similar to the one Spyro and Cynder had to seal shut two years ago, marked the point of no return for the Purple Dragon. However, he was not to be let out without some sort of elaborate farewell from the military he had helped defend their city from not once, but twice. The North gate's courtyard was just large enough to fit Squads A through D of Wolfhound Platoon, the Tiger Colonel Asgard, commander of the First Warfang Regiment, the Guardians, and one of the five Generals in charge of the entire fortress: the one-armed, one-eyed Wolf General Tarsil.

It was also large enough to fit Spyro's party of four; himself, his mate Cynder, Corporal Flame from Squad C, and the upper-class Dragoness Ember, having joined up in the time between the Hall of the Greats and now. While Ember had only moved to Warfang on the suggestion of Cynder and Flame, she had made a living in the Dragon City. Now she was going North, out of her new home and into the great unknown; and for some reason, she liked the idea quite a bit, even stating that she wasn't afraid to get a little dirty, normally a big offense considering her belief that the more brightly colored and clean one's scales were, the more attractive she was going to get. It's a common upper-class Dragoness belief, even though not many of those existed in her hometown of Acropolis.

Of course, the one thing she _hadn't_ been told was that Spyro would never return to Warfang. She hadn't been told about the Locust, even though most of Warfang knew what was going on with him. Flame expected her to break down in tears once she'd been told that her former crush was dying. Not a good thing to tell your girlfriend, he had thought.

The Corporal, on the other hand, was originally given the job of escorting Spyro as far as the open Aurora Desert, and then turning back, leaving Spyro and Cynder to find their own path. However, two days before Spyro's discharge from the infirmary, he'd managed to snag himself a year's leave from the military so he could tag along and pay witness to the Purple Dragon's final days. Normally, this is next to impossible to obtain, but since he was a friend of Spyro, Asgard let this one slip by.

But enough of those details. Assuming narrator duties.

When Spyro finally packed up his things and got ready to leave Warfang, he had a faint idea of what was awaiting him at the North gates, but never had any idea the courtyard there was going to be jampacked with soldiers, officers and Guardians. He'd been surrounded by a flurry of new information, "thank yous" and salutes; this very courtyard, for example, was going to be renamed Spyro Memorial Square in his honor. (None of the Aurorans had yet been told about the statue dedication in the Hall of the Greats; this was the Republic's farewell present to him.)

The Guardians also had something to tell the outgoing Purple Dragon. Not a gift or anything, mind you, just a little tidbit. "Spyro, it slipped my mind to tell you this, but, ah, Purple Dragons have some special rights upon death," Terrador, the Earth Guardian began. "You see, more Purple Dragons chose Auroran funerals over a more traditional burial over in Deren Gard-sacred Draconic burial ground-as time went on, so the Guardians, while we didn't like the idea at first, adopted a custom that used to only apply to us."

"Yes, yes, unlike the lowly common folk who only have their names, dates, and other paltry words of wisdom written on their graves, we Guardians-and now, by extension, you Purple Dragons-have larger, more elaborate gravestones, which not only have the usual names and other miscellanea, but also an epitaph longer than anything, say, Flame could have-"

Cyril quickly put his tail in front of the blathering Electric Guardian's mouth. "Okay, Volteer, that is quite enough!"

Durandal shook his head and sighed, a claw placed against his forehead. "What Volteer was trying to say is, each Purple Dragon buried in the Aurorans' traditional style-which we're assuming you'd prefer, for many possible reasons-gains a headstone larger than any other being apart from the Guardians to show their importance to the world and the Dragons. As a fortunate consequence, those headstones have more carving space for words after the usual name and dates," he began.

"What this means is that the Guardians can more effectively summarize your life with the increased space. Thing is, they never actually think of these epitaphs, as Volteer just called them, beforehand; they think there are better minds out there who can generate better ideas. Think of it as a... Contest, if you will: The Guardians take what they feel both mourns and describes the deceased well and have it carved onto the headstone." He leaned in close to Spyro. "You won't be around to see it, but be confident that you will be remembered for... Let's just say a long time."

"Thanks... I guess." The thought of death was depressing enough as it was, but... He knew how things were. With all he'd been through, he was lucky to have gotten that far in his life. Others-Malefor and Spydre, and quite possibly all other Purple Dragons-had lived past the age of seventeen. He would not. _Then again, what would a little rest do to you? _he thought.

As the Purple Dragon strode away from the Guardians, for what felt like the last time, and towards the north gate, he heard Durandal say "May the odds be ever in your favor, Spyro." While he had unknowingly single-handedly referenced a human literary work, it was a signature farewell of his from a long career in the military. He first used it at the end of a speech given just before Warfang finally mobilized its forces against the Empire offensively during the Second Troll War, also doubling as his "farewell speech" since he was retiring from the military to take up the post of Fire Guardian. Something inside him liked the way it sounded, and quickly replaced his farewell to soldiers in general conversation with those seven words. The rest was history.

His final stop (having already said his goodbyes to Asgard and given a farewell speech to the gathered soldiers) was the waiting General Tarsil. Accompanied by his adjutant, Captain Fasnir, this was one of those occasions where he dared not bear his missing eye, wearing a black eyepatch over the wound. Yes, you read that right: he even refuses to show it in front of his old colleague. Well, he'll be eyepatch-less in a non-formal enviroment, anyway.

Fasnir, if I may expand on his character a bit, was relatively close to Tarsil as a friend. He was so close to him, in fact, he was known to rarely leave his side in the middle of a potential combat emergency. When fighting did break out, however, he would immediately get to a safe position (as he was not on combat duty, having been dealt a combat tour-ending injury late in the Second Troll War) and wait out the battle.

Spyro and Tarsil saluted each other in greeting, even though they had a seemingly eternal grudge against each other. "Commander Spyro, I... Never thought I'd see this day. You're leaving Warfang, faced with a death sentence for bearing some ungodly disease..."

"General, there's no need to worry. Sure, the men'll miss me, but... But they have you, their real commander. I don't think being a Commander actually means anything. It's just a title to me, that's all."

The one-armed Wolf scoffed. "The title doesn't mean anything to you because you've already demonstrated its meaning. You led our men to victory two years ago, and that's all that matters. Your job is already done. It's our job now to provide security to the border, make sure nothing with green skin comes through without permission. That might have been easier with you around, but things change."

"I'm sure that's a pretty big burden, but, to be honest, the Empire won't see an opening with me out of the way anytime soon. You're focused on the Imperial front; they can't exactly act. It'll just be business as usual while we're gone, so keep your men on their toes."

Spyro then began to assume his position in front of the gate, but, once again, Tarsil stopped him. "What do we do if you and your party come back alive?" he quickly asked.

This was something Spyro hadn't put much thought into. Considering the more likely outcome was his own death, returning alive was an impossibility. The best he could come up with for such a situation was "Don't kill us on sight. Just open the gates and let us in. We'll handle the rest."

"And if you're alone?"

Tarsil got no response except a look that said "Whaddya think?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I just don't want you to learn the lesson I've had to learn with the loss of... Well, my arm."

Even Spyro knew when to put on a smirk! This was, quite obviously, one of those times. "Don't worry about it, General. I won't be back anytime soon!"

"If at all," he added underneath his breath.

**BGM: Modern Warfare 3 End Credits Theme**

**Brian Tyler**

**MW3 Official Soundtrack**

The Guardians were present in the courtyard for symbolic purposes-extinguishing the fire-seal on the gate before pushing it open for the outgoing Purple Dragon, his mate and their escorts. This "gate" was actually two separate gates for security, though battering rams these days were designed to take out both gates at once to limit the time taken to bring it all down. Only the inner gate was able to be fire-sealed, leaving the outer gate wide open except for combat emergencies, in which case it was quickly closed and locked. There was an exception with the North gate, however; since it had only been used as a) a departure point for caravans of prospective settlers heading for the Auroran Frontier to the northeast and b) a gateway for soldiers heading out into battle, the North outer gate was always, intimidatingly enough, closed except under those circumstances.

The Dragons walked through this first gate, waiting for it to clunk shut behind them so the outer gate would let them out, which, surprisingly, never happened. This move allowed the Auroran soldiers and other inhabitants of the Fortress to watch as their hero departed the Fortress for good. About ten or fifteen seconds passed before *that* gate creaked and groaned open, letting the Draconic party of four out into the Aurora Desert, the only desert region known to the Republic.

Though most soldiers, including the high-ranking officers, were saluting the outgoing Dragon, there was a certain one-armed Auroran who seemed rather shady. While Tarsil *was* watching Spyro's departure, he was quickly taken aside by his Arctic fox adjutant, Captain Fasnir. "What is it, Captain?"

"Sir, I have some good news regarding the... takeover you wish to perform. All you need to do is say the word and the Guardians will be out of power in no time!" No response. "Uh, Tarsil... Are you listening to me?"

Tarsil shook his head and sighed. "As much as I want Auroran dominance of the Dragon City, Captain, Spyro being gone is just too much of a good thing, I think. All he's doing is passing the figurative baton to us furries, knowing we can defend ourselves from whatever horrors that might come our way. He might be right; the Empire can't act against us now that we're completely focused on their border. One wrong move and we'll have crossed the Mountains over to the Empire by spring of next year."

Fasnir pondered for a brief moment before turning his eyes towards Spyro. "So, you're gonna put this whole coup on standby or what?"

The General nodded. "We'll save it for an emergency. The Guardians can keep power for now, but in the face of death, a true leader must rise."

Vulpine eyes rolled in response. "That wasn't what you said a week ago, but it could work."

Meanwhile, the Dragons hadn't yet taken forty steps out of the city when Ember tugged on Spyro's tail. "Could you hold on a second?" she asked.

The Dragons held up their movements as Ember turned around, walked a few feet... And gave a Draconic curtsy farewell, as per her upper class heritage. In retrospect, she may have gone a little too overboard with it, but it didn't matter. She was already on her way out of the city, anyway.

With no Aurorans to bog down their journey, the Dragons decided to take to the air, kicking up sand and dust as they ascended into the desert sky. They were, of course, too high to spot the solitary locust watching them from a rock to their west.

*_**shoo-whoop!**_*

And with that, we're back in the presence of that weird looking mist cloud and the hooded figure. Like last time, this is in Runic, and will therefore be translated for your conveinence. I'm stepping out of narration for the time being, so let me just turn on the autotranslation and I'll see you a little bit further on.

The mist cloud displayed images from the locust's point of view. "You were correct, Lord. Warfang has expelled Spyro the Dragon from its walls on account of your infection."

"Good, good... I must ask you, though; what are those three other Dragons doing?"

"I did not anticipate this. It appears that your precious Purple Dragon is under escort from these other Dragons. If appearances do not deceive me, the Fire Guardian (Flame-Author) is among them."

"The former Terror of the Skies, Cynder, is also present, it seems. I must add that sometimes two birds can be killed with one stone; those Trolls I infected have drawn out more in death than I could have ever imagined."

"Indeed, capturing the Purple Dragon appears to be harder than anticipated."

The image changed to a close-up of Spyro and Cynder.

"While your logic is most agreeable, I was simply saying that the appearance of Cynder means the impact of Spyro's loss has spread further than planned. Taking her captive will provide plenty of leverage against him; but I shan't hold my breath. From what I gather, she is still a deadly adversary. Whatever you do, do not disregard her as a threat, or else the sacrifices that must be made to take him will be far greater than your wildest dreams."

"I shall proceed with utmost caution, Lord."

"Speaking of sacrifices... How goes your search for an army?"

The image switches again, this time to an Imperial camp on the border between the Republic and the Empire, near the Auroran Frontier-a piece of land, mostly a valley, ceded to the Republic at the end of the First Troll War.

"I have found a band of Imperial soldiers that do not show much in the way of loyalty to their emperor, Thorn. Their number is great enough to form one strike force, but they will not join up unless one of their Generals, Kingdok, is responsible for leading them."

Again, the mist cloud changed the image displayed to that of General Kingdok; a hulking figure, stronger and taller than all the other soldiers around him. He wore a helmet that was just large enough to fit the top of his head, but did not cover his face. His signature weapon-a two-handed cutlass forged just for his usage-was sheathed on his back. He could be more commonly seen using a war club.

"Ah yes, Kingdok. The memories of those Trolls you sent to their deaths say great things about him. They say he led an Imperial army in a battle against Warfang."

"One of them, yes, but according to my prospects, he too is discontent with the Emperor, but ever so slightly. Two armies are most definitely enough to take on the Republic, Lord, even if one is not under my command."

"What about the state of Pawa? You say you have encountered prospective troops there as well?"

Once more, the image is changed to that of several Pawan soldiers-much like Aurorans, except their gear is more spartan and their shields are more like... well, shields compared to the padded gauntlet the Republic uses.

"The entire state has a strong disliking towards the Republic. However, their stance towards me appears to be quite untrusting. Negotiations could take as long as until next spring, at best. Although, Lord, I must advise you that it shall be worth the wait. From what I have seen and heard, they are among the best warriors on the Continent."

"Very well. I wish to hear back from you early in the spring if you do not capture Spyro or the Fire Guardian before then. My power is growing weak; I must rest. Good luck to you, beloved."

The mist cloud then faded out of existence, leaving the hooded figure alone in the cave. It gave an evil chuckle at the mammoth of a task provided to it. "It will not be a problem, Lord. You *will* be free, no matter the cost. I shall see to that." The mysterious figure then turned and departed the chamber, stopping at the entrance of the cave. Putting its index and middle fingers together at the base of its head, between its eyes, it mentally transmitted an order to the locusts at its every beck and call: _No matter where they wind up, sooner or later those Dragons will have to cross the Great Trench. Await their arrival there, then separate them with all your fury!_ Five seconds later, another flock of locusts emerged from the mouth of the cave, climbing into the sky with great haste.

The "new dawn of the Dragon" had come to an end.

**Author's Note: **I should have posted this before WMD, if I'm honest. The schedule I had in mind was alternating; WMD, then FWR, then back to WMD. Normally, this works out fine; but then schoolwork and a possible writers' block hit and I left this a little in the dust, if you'll excuse my metaphor. Thankfully, the writing of the next few chapters should be relatively easy now that I'm actually closing in on Book 1 Chapter 1 in the _Bone _series chronology-wise. I'll use the books for reference, but everything else—dialogue, imagery, that kind of stuff—is all me. I will tell you this, though; the way I'm thinking of the next chapter, it'll probably require me to type it all in OpenOffice, so there's food for thought. Anyway, please read and review, and I'll see you whenever I can get something_ else _up!


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